


Certain Things to Accept - Part I

by Persephone



Series: Willing to Take the Risk [12]
Category: Valentine's Day (2010)
Genre: Best Friends, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Family Shenanigans, Father-Son Relationship, Fatherhood, L.A. Life, Los Angeles, M/M, Rare Characters, Rare Fandoms, Rare Pairings, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three weeks since he's been trying to reach his son for the wedding. Alastair Wilson wants to know wtf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

Holden had a car pick them up at the airport. They had come in on a private flight, but even walking through the quiet Sunday mid-morning terminal the trend that been accompanying them since Des Moines International continued. People did double takes, then their phones went up and they frantically tapped away at the screen. As a couple, the level of interest in them had gone way up.

At the terminal doors a portly older chauffeur was smiling professionally at them. Holden, whose suitcase he was pulling along, stopped at the doors and handed over his carry-on as the chauffeur reached for it. He himself had taken only a shoulder bag to Johnston, as his winters clothes always stayed at his parents’.

“This is Sean, Redmond,” Holden said to the chauffeur, who touched his cap and said it was a pleasure to meet him.

While Redmond loaded their luggage into the trunk, they got into the town car where he turned to Holden. Holden had a stiff, focused look about him. He took his hand.

Holden looked wordlessly at him as he laced their fingers together, locking them tightly before he moved both their hands back to Holden’s lap. 

Holden’s eyes briefly lowered distractedly to their hands before he looked up again, turning to stare out at the passing buildings along Century Boulevard as Redmond zipped them onto the onramp for the 405. 

Throughout the ride Holden said no more than a few sentences, one of which was to remind Redmond that they were going to Malibu and not Westwood, to which Redmond confirmed that he was aware. Then Holden sat back and absently held his hand.

Holden’s silence went uninterrupted by him. It was obvious where Holden’s thoughts were. They were back to a life in L.A., a life under the all encompassing influence of Cecelia and Alastair Wilson. Neither of whom, given that they had a big society wedding to plan, could have found it all that funny that the two of them had run off like they had.

He let Holden have his space to think.

For himself, however, after weeks of some of the most important experiences of his adult life, he found that he was incapable of caring too much about whatever strangeness the Wilsons had in store for them. Simply put, he had lost his agitation towards Holden’s family. It had dawned on him during their stay in Johnston that his real discomfort with the Wilson side of things had always been Holden himself. It had been no fun laboring under the fear that Holden had only brought him into his family social circle to prove for himself that an outsider didn’t belong.

But with that gone, whatever either parent thought or wished to do about his relationship with Holden was no any concern of his.

Glancing at Holden now, he knew his only concern was whether and how Holden would learn to take his parents in stride.

And as Holden looked down once more at the entwined hands he had clutched in his lap, he really was left wondering how it would all go down.

Not easily, he presumed.

~*~

He had expected that his house would be dim and silent, the lights switched off and the blinds lowered, in the way the housekeeping service always left it when he was gone for some time.

Instead the house was bright with Pacific sunlight. Depositing their luggage in the living room, he stood and looked out across the kitchen windows at the glittering, sky-blue ocean, the sound of waves suffusing the house like ambient sound therapy. 

Standing in the middle of his living room, he took a slow deep breath, letting himself return mentally to the place he had made his home. He hardly ever forgot why he had chosen Malibu as the place to live, but on days like this it was great to be reminded.

The light, quiet feelings also assured him of something else. He knew that he would never look at any part of this house and see himself doing so many negative things, like from a film strip of his recent past. 

He wasn’t going to see himself leaving Holden asleep in the bedroom at nights to come sit out in the living room and wonder if he was throwing his life away on a man who had said not to bank on a future with him. Or see himself coming in from the back door from his morning runs, tense because he knew Holden had to leave at some point and it would sometimes feel that he would never get him to come back. 

And most definitely he would never glance at that front door and see himself leaving Holden distraught and confused because he had screwed up so badly he had to return to Iowa. 

It was time for a new future.

He turned around to look for Holden, who had deposited his bag on one of the recliners and had disappeared into the bedroom. 

Holden came out as though in answer to his thoughts, but stood clutching the doorframe, his eyes roving the living room and kitchen. Holden was now down to a single jersey with the sleeves pushed up, probably only too happy to shed the winter layers.

Pointing to the refrigerator, Holden said, “It should be fully stocked. I had them deliver fruits and vegetables this morning.”

Taking a moment to appreciate what a truly fortunate man he was, he murmured his thanks. Then he started over to where Holden stood. 

And Holden watched him warily as he approached, which didn’t surprise him at all. They both knew what was being left unsaid. But now was not the time to address any of it.

Circling his arms around Holden’s waist, he first kissed him, then smiled in return when Holden raised an increasingly suspicious look at him.

“Why don’t we,” he said, smiling. “Go find out whether I need to buy a new bed.”

Holden frowned. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“The one in your hotel room in Johnston felt better.”

“That’s because it was bigger.”

“Huh,” he said, enjoying the look Holden was now giving him. Holden had been saying since the day they first slept on his bed that he ought to consider getting a bigger one. Now, he feigned incredulity and let Holden forbearingly lead him into the bedroom.

~*~

By evening he felt he could address the matter.

At his closet unpacking his bag, he was aware that Holden, behind him on the bed amidst the rumpled bedcovers, lay staring at him.

The sunshine from that morning had been swept aside by a storm front that was now raging outside. Tossing white foam from the Pacific along the beach, it slanted rain in sheets across his bedroom walls, dimming his bedroom and turning his glass house into a wind-lashed boat floating along a gloomy ocean.

It was a billowing torrential downpour that seemed to have nothing to do with the weather and all to do with what was going on inside his sweetheart.

The sound of the rain picked up, whipping his patio furniture, and his chatty, optimistic love was silent as he had been all day.

It was time for him to say something.

Finishing up, he pulled out his laptop from his now empty bag, slotted the bag into its space in the wardrobe and slid the door shut. A flash of lightning lit up the dark waters outside so that the tempest framed and wrapped itself around the bedroom. 

Glancing toward the vanished bolt of light, he looked at where Holden lay.

“Aren’t you scared of the lightning?”

Holden was silent. Then he said “No,” sounding confused that he would ask. “Why would I be?”

“Well, you’re supposed to be scared of it so I could come hold you, tell you I’ll keep you safe.”

It didn’t bring out the smile he had aimed for. Holden just continued to look as though he was having a difficult time being in the conversation with him.

If changing a person’s behavior towards the people closest to them were as easy as looking them dead in the eye and saying, “Listen, to hell with them,” he would have hypnotized Holden with his stare by now.

But, it was going to take a lot more than just hard hoping.

Carrying his laptop with him to the built-in computer desk by his TV. He plugged it into the wall. Here was the part about being back that was going to suck no matter which way he cut it. He needed to start tackling his offseason affairs. Or, at least, pretend to get started by looking at.

Opening the lid, he waited for the screen to wake up, knowing he was going to dread this.

The screen came on and he opened up his email program, then stood staring a little shocked at it. There had to be a thousand emails in there.

While in Johnston checking his email and continuing what he usually did this time of year had seemed incongruous so he hadn’t done it. Now that looked like the dumb idea it had probably been.

“Are _you_ gonna need me to come over there and hold you?” Holden asked knowingly.

He released a huge sigh. “Yeah, I probably will.”

Scrolling the trackpad, he checked to see whether maybe it was all spam. He could dream on.

With a quiet sigh, he closed it. He’d start with Kara’s folder, and if he really had balls, he’d delete the rest.

Now he turned once more and settled his gaze on Holden. Holden stared back, his eyes wary again. He started over.

Holden’s eyes silently followed him.

When he reached the foot of the bed he bent and grabbed Holden by the legs and began pulling him slowly down.

The action brought a much needed smile to Holden’s face, the first the had seen since they had left Johnston.

He continued pulling until he had Holden's hips on the edge of the bed which put him directly under him. Then, supporting his weight with one hand, he slid the other possessively along Holden’s thigh until he made Holden wrap his legs around his waist.

While Holden stared up at him with an accusatory look—Holden knew what was coming—his own eyes were serious as he looked at him.

“I think you should go stay over on the Westside without me for a few days.”

Holden’s accusatory expression didn’t change. “You’re kicking me out of your house?”

He dipped his head and gently kissed his upper lip. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you should go relax alone for a little bit.”

Holden’s unhappy look intensified.

“I can relax around you just fine,” Holden said, not looking at him anymore. “Unless of course you want some space,” Holden added, flicking him a look which he knew Holden hoped was in a nonchalant manner. “Which is fine.”

Resisting smiling, he kissed him again, this time stealing a soft, groin-warming kiss of his lower lip. “Don’t act like your feelings are hurt,” he whispered. “We both know you need the rest. And we also know why you don’t want to go.”

Holden’s eyes were now resolutely turned away, focused on the rain thundering down the glass walls.

“Maybe if I stay here,” Holden said quietly. “Maybe if I don’t answer their calls for six months, they’ll know I mean it when I say I won’t put up with their nonsense anymore.”

“Don’t think about them right now,” he replied, kissing underneath his jaw, along his throat. “Think of sleep instead. And how ‘bout this. I’ll be there in a couple days.”

Holden had brought his eyes down to look at him. He could tell from his movement above his head, though all Holden would be getting was the sight of the crown of his head.

“You’ll come stay at my place?” Holden asked incredulously.

“Don’t give me that tone,” he grumbled, touching his tongue to Holden’s warm neck. “I’m not that bad about it.”

Holden snorted. “All right,” he sighed softly. “But hurry over, ‘cause you’ve spoiled me since we made up and I’m afraid if I go more than a day or two without the constant sex and whatnot, I’ll start having ugly withdrawals.”

“And love,” he spelled out, raising his head to look into Holden’s eyes. “Constant sex and love.”

That, at last, got him a smile.

“Say it after me,” he demanded, narrowing his eyes threateningly.

Holden chuckled quietly and didn’t manage to say it. He climbed into bed.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

Though he was tempted to leave threatening noises on Sean’s voicemail for the needless physical deprivation above all else, he had to admit that Sean's instincts had been correct.

Upon returning to his condo, he slept the entire next day away. Simply got in after Redmond had brought him home—smiling a bit more fondly than he usually remembered Redmond doing—and had headed straight for his bed. His boots were the only things he managed to unzip and successfully get off before finding himself diagonally across it.

When he felt his brain turn off, he realized that even at Sean’s, he had been holding tight to the memories from Johnston.

He closed his eyes and was out.

~*~

Despite Sean’s recommending, when he woke up later to get himself some OJ, he called Craig and told him he’d be at the office the next day.

But the following morning when his alarm sounded, he switched it off without waking up, rolled over and went back to sleep.

At half past eight he finally woke up, found his phone and told them not to expect him until tomorrow. 

Then he ended the call and laid there staring out the window.

Yesterday’s storm had passed but it was still raining outside. A soft, misting rain that suspended a low, whitish sky over the landscape, and reminded him of the winter woods Sean had stopped them by in Johnston on their way to the airport.

Even though the mere thought of that time made his stomach tighten painfully, he let his thoughts go back there. To standing in mists of snow and feeling as though he had finally been shown the gates to a magical kingdom. Realizing that all the things Sean believed in were not made up but true. That everything he had always felt but was too afraid to admit he believed in were right there in front of him.

As they had stood there Sean had told him a secret. And he had forgotten altogether to breathe as Sean had held his hands and told him the conclusion of that night he had run away from home the summer he had turned twelve.

After Allison had found him in that abandoned Chevy truck, he had laid in bed that night and had wished upon a star. Then Sean had shyly explained to him that at that point when he had lost any hope of believing that he could be “like all the other boys,” he had taken what hopes he had left and had wished for a best friend whom he could also kiss.

“I wished that I could make a family with him,” Sean had told him, smiling serenely into his eyes. “And that whenever I kissed him, no matter what I had done wrong on that or any other day, he would always want to kiss me back.”

Around his heart squeezing painfully, he had managed to crack, “Davey wasn’t cutting it for ya?”

“No,” Sean had assured him gently, his smile expanding. “So I want you to know that no matter what I’ve done wrong on this or any other day, each time you kiss me, I know that you’re the most wonderful gift a boy could ever wish for.”

And there he had felt his heart breaking in two, one to be left behind in a place that was safe and welcoming, one to follow Sean back out into the real world—his real world—that was harsh and cynical and unfair, and which, for every moment of euphoria that Sean had given him, he knew was going to exact double in vindictiveness and acrimony.

If Sean had wished for him, then it was against all odds that they had found and stayed with each other. He wanted them to have everything Sean deserved. He wanted it so badly there wasn’t much he wouldn’t give for it.

But even when he had managed to get out of bed, even when he had made himself breakfast, he found himself standing there staring down at the plate of scrambled eggs, with no desire whatsoever to put them in his mouth. He couldn’t see what he could give for what Sean deserved. What, if he could offer to his parents, would guarantee that they were left alone to carve out the life they wanted.

And what he wanted was Sean standing behind him right now, putting his arms around him and kissing him in that way he had, as if he had a song in his heart. He wanted it so badly he could barely take a breath. 

He wanted to go outside and have it be a dark night, with stars above, and beneath a lamplit deck with good hearted people sharing laughter and love. 

Why was that too much to ask?

~*~

By early evening he made himself get the hell out of his condo. He opted for something that would prove distracting—or mindless, depending on how it went— and selected shopping for new cocktail suits in Beverly Hills.

He had sent Kate Hazeltine a text telling her he was back in town and couldn't wait to catch up at a lunch. Her exuberant, excited response had been enough to put a tiny spark of happiness in his heart. He had so much to tell her.

He had also briefly considered going in to see Petey at Geffen HQ, which was what they called the philanthropy offices where Petey worked, but it was still awards season in Hollywood so the fun usually to be had in watching rich, pretty people pretend to do work would be sidelined by them freaking out over every little thing.

And so thinking he was escaping his mental cage, he drove over to Rodeo Drive. 

An hour or so into his perusals, however, examining textures of materials for suits, he felt anything but at ease.

He hadn’t taken into account the actuality of being in Beverly Hills. The sights and sounds of hushed and scurrying shop assistants, the gilt furnishings and the black town cars dropping of residents accompanied by personal shoppers, all conspired to make him feel as though he was foolishly refusing to acknowledge reality.

He wasn’t in Johnston anymore, no matter how hard he tried to believe otherwise. 

And in the middle of measurements, he was forced to do something to push off the guilty, nagging sensations that if he was truly back from Johnston, then there were things he was supposed to be facing right now.

Excusing himself, he stepped off the pedestal and went into one corner of the boutique to text his dad.

He let him know that he was back in town and that he would call him as soon as he had settled back in. 

Then, as a buffer, he quickly added, _In a few days’ time._

Pocketing the phone and returning to the tailor, he wasn’t quite whether he had just set a hornet lose, or had successfully kept one out of his house for the meantime.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, the tailor pulled the pencil from between his clamped lips, smiled up at him and said, in a thick Eastern European accent, “Mr. Wilson, I hope you’ve not yet picked a tailor for your wedding? It would be a true pleasure to create for you a beautiful tuxedo.”

Then, perhaps hearing his skipped heartbeat, the tailor fretfully said, “This I hope is not too presumptuous of me! _E pra,_ please, as you were.”

~*~

He did go into work the next day. And the first thing he discovered upon walking in was that it was Valentine’s Day.

Even if he hadn’t been peppily greeted by their new, peppy receptionist, he had instantly noticed the profusion of pink and red everywhere, not to mention the cupids bumping rather cutely against each other on the ceiling.

He started starkly at the receptionist who had greeted him, frozen in surprise. The very young woman’s face took on an “Oh no!” expression, which most definitely mirrored his.

Stunned, he looked around, a frantic alarm going off in his head. 

It was Sean’s one year coming out anniversary!

How on earth could he have forgotten!

Turning on the spot, he went over to the glass wall overlooking Santa Monica Boulevard, pulling out his phone as he did so.

Sean hadn’t yet called him that morning, and as the phone rang on the other end, Sean didn’t pick up. He disconnected and tried again. Sean answered this time before it started ringing.

“You made it to the office, I take it?” Sean asked casually.

“Yeah… Sean, it’s Valentine’s Day!” he gasped, keeping his voice quiet.

Sean was silent for a beat. Then, amusement in his voice, Sean said, “Well, excuse me, I didn’t know that was a day you _had_ to be in the office.”

“Stop kidding, Sean. You know what day this is. Is the media all over you? I’ll come right now.”

Sean chuckled. “Relax, it’s okay, Kara’s been on it. It’s all over the place, but I hadn’t really wanted to make a big deal out of it, so we’re just doing Good Morning America.”

“Of course it’s a big deal. Where are you right now?”

“In Burbank, at ABC. We’re doing it by video, thankfully.”

“Okay,” he said, deflated, finding it hard to believe that he could have been so forgetful. Despite his burying his head in the sand. “Wh-what are doing for the rest of the day?”

“Waiting to see my honey.”

He sighed quietly, mortified on top of everything else. “Sean, I’m sorry I didn’t remember.”

He stared down at them morning traffic stretching into the distance. What a way to begin their new life. He had been the one to make Sean come out of the closet, a turning point in both their lives, and yet he couldn’t remember to mark the occasion just a year later.

“Holden, if you’re going to be like this for every Valentine’s Day, I’m going to start dreading the day even more than you did.”

“No, I-I’m not— I wasn’t—” He took a breath. “I don’t plan on being weird about it. But I won’t forget next year, or ever.”

Sean chuckled. He then lowered his voice. “In which case we’d better think of something good to do each year that beats me giving interviews. Because I sure as hell don’t want to be celebrating the next ten years of it in studio green rooms.”

He promised that they would. Before they disconnected he asked him to say hi to Kara. He slid his phone back into his pocket and started for his office.

Down the hallway he met up with Craig, who came grinning into his office after him.

“Hey, Chief.”

He cast Craig a look as he rounded his desk, then told him what Petey had said about him making prurient use of his desk in his absence. Craig’s grin widened.

“You gotta stop teasing him and that idiot,” he told Craig, trying not to smile.

“You’re only saying that because you haven’t been around for a while.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse. It’s only my animosity that gives them something other than Petey’s wealth to talk about.”

He laughed a little. 

“Although nowadays, it’s been all about the wedding.”

He looked at Craig. “What wedding?”

“Yours.”

He blinked, sure he must be misunderstanding.

“The guy’s been talking about your wedding like it’s the do or die social event of the year. He seemed desperate to score an invitation.”

He continued staring at Craig, disbelieving of what he was hearing. “How does he… Why is he talking about it in the first place?”

“What do you mean?”

Confused, he asked, “What do you mean, what do I mean? Has Petey been talking about it?”

“No… But you know he works for Hanan, right?”

Startled, he asked, “Who, Bryan?” 

Craig nodded.

“Seriously?”

He found it hard to match up the two. The last time he had seen or dealt with the most enigmatic of the Four Horsemen had been was during the Family Research Council fight last summer. His parting memory, ironically, had been Hanan laughing when he had been told that Alastair might be catching up with him in number of marriages.

Petey’s maybe-he-is, maybe-he-isn’t gay friend Bryan, on the other hand, was just some hanger-on who didn’t seem to know the word discretion.

“That’s how he knows Petey,” Craig pointed out. “And he is high as a kite of late on the idea of attending your wedding. Like he’s about to get an invitation any minute or something. He mentions it every time we see him. He must be planning on coming as Hanan’s luggage.”

“Well, he can dream on. And I’ll murder Petey if he makes him his plus one.”

Craig cackled. “How’re the plans coming for it, by the way?”

He fell silent. He focused on unloading his briefcase.

When he stole a look, Craig was smiling at him.

“It’s good to have you back, Holden. We’ve missed you.”

Murmuring a thanks, he was also once more grateful that Craig was the kind of friend who didn’t ask questions. He only accepted whatever was told him, and whatever wasn’t, he presumed he didn’t need to know. 

Because he certainly wasn’t up to going over the last couple of weeks.

“You know what day it is, right?” Craig asked, picking up the TV remote. “And I don’t mean from all the hearts and candy.”

He didn’t answer, instead looking as the TV flashed on. It was on ABC’s live morning show. “I presume you know he’s going to be on GMA,” Craig said.

He nodded and the two of them sat on the edge of his desk and watched the live video feed interview. Once Sean’s face appeared on the giant flatscreen next to Regis, between the two men, it only took seconds to get how heartwarming the interview was going to be.

Watching Sean grinning and very sexily fielding Regis’s questions, he felt as though he had to relearn breathing. Aside from Sean looking radiant and impossibly gorgeous, there was also an ongoing, mesmerizing, outpouring of support being trailed across the bottom of the screen.

Support for Sean’s coming out had always been tremendous, but it was astounding how much and how far public sentiment had come on the issue of gay public figures, in exactly one year. The crawl onscreen relayed texts and tweets that people were sending as they watched, and it was reading them as much as listening to Sean’s grateful words acknowledging that very thing that was making the whole interview seem nothing short of magical.

“He has a really supportive family, doesn’t he?” Craig pondered.

“How’d you know?” he asked, looking at him.

“Cause he’s still the only one out in the NFL.” Craig turned and looked at him, his frank eyes sized him up. “You two are going to be good at it, you know.”

“Good at what?”

“Being together. Being married. I mean, it’s not for everyone, but he seems stable, and he seems to make you…better, for lack of a better word. No offense, Holden.”

“None taken,” he murmured, turning his attention back to the TV where Sean was finishing up the interview with a small wave at the screen.

The camera pulled back to show the small studio crew stripping Sean of his myriad mics and shaking his hand. The pullback was done for emotional effect he supposed, and seeing the rapt looks on the crew’s faces as they interacted with Sean, he could say that, for him at least, it worked.

His heart was beating with the deeper rhythm it always took when he looked at Sean. Lowering his eyes to his hands, he found himself praying that he would continue to let Sean make him that better man. 

Sean had done it for four years, but when it came to his parents he didn’t have much control. 

By which he didn’t know whether he meant of the situation or of himself.

~*~

When they spoke later that afternoon he adjudged for Sean’s amusement his rankings of the various news shows’ reporting of his coming out anniversary. 

Mingled with the excesses of Valentine’s Day, it had been quite the shameless ratings chase by the networks. He then asked Sean whether this was the reason he had wanted him out of his house, so he wouldn’t puke all over his beloved black marble floor.

Sean laughed, and it was such a smooth, sexy laugh, so markedly different from his usual brief one that for a moment he wondered who it had come from.

Then he remembered that Sean used to laugh like this, when they had first started going out. He remembered how after getting to know each other a little better—when he had finally become convinced that Sean wasn’t putting on a humility act, and Sean had satisfied himself that he wasn’t conjuring up stereotypes when he looked at him—he had allowed himself to be more flirtatious towards Sean. And Sean would laugh like that when he told him about his business trips, about the people he had met along his day.

It was the way Sean used to laugh before either of them had brought any pain into each other’s lives. Before he had spent years keeping Sean off balance.

The thought made him ache all over.

“Do that again,” he said softly, staring at his pen which he’d set on top of his worksheets.

“Do what?” Sean replied just as softly. “Laugh at you being so adorable I can’t stand it?”

His ache only got worse. He was getting out of here and going home.

“Nope,” Sean said when he told him he was leaving. “You’re not leaving earlier than you said. Not on my account. Stay and finish what you gotta do, and I’ll see you tonight.”

He sighed and ended the call, then begrudgingly refocused on work, only half taking in the sounds of the office closing up for the day.

~*~

Sean showed up around seven-thirty looking like a big glowing dream. He had used his access code, but he had first called from the parking garage to say he had arrived and he had been waiting for him at his front door since.

He watched him make his way down the short hallway from the elevator toward his door. He felt as though he hadn’t seen him in a few months. He felt physically hungry at the sight of him.

“Hi,” he breathed.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Sean looked none the worse for wear after his busy Valentine’s Day. But he was packed so efficiently for his presumably short stay that he had only a weekend bag, harnessed across his chest. And for some reason, the size of the bag sank his heart. 

Perhaps he had been hoping that Sean would come over and stay for a while like he had in his hotel in Johnston.

But he knew Sean didn’t like being landlocked and cooped up in his condo, no matter how large the space. Plus, Sean needed to return to Malibu for his morning runs, training and conditioning in his gym room, and all kinds of other things that his condo didn’t provide.

He stepped back as Sean entered, closing the door behind him. Then, while Sean stood there giving him an amusedly raised eyebrow, he realized he was crowding Sean’s space and not giving him enough room to move into the foyer proper.

He attempted to shuffle back so Sean could at least get his overnight bag off his shoulder, but Sean had already slipped his arms around him. Sean kissed him, then stared attentively at him.

“You catch up on a lot of work?”

“Yeah,” he said vaguely.

“Get some sleep?”

He nodded.

“Miss me?”

He smiled.

“Come here,” Sean said, pulling him in even closer, until they were bumping excited parts of themselves. He held him while Sean kissed his nape, smoothed his hands down the length of his back, and held him without saying anything more. Sean seemed to know that he simply needed to draw on his strength for the time being. He sighed, buried his face against Sean’s neck and thought, _To hell with reality._

~*~

Sean showed him a card later that evening, addressed to both of them, which he had received from Deena. It was a solid red heart, though drawn suspiciously close to the shape of a football, with two stick figures—one yellow haired and the other brown haired—holding the hands of a small girl with triangular shaped hair. 

It was white with a red border she had drawn in, and inside she had carefully written out her emphatic notions of neicely love. 

Like the girl herself, the card was no frills but throbbing with love. 

He tightened his jaw as he looked at it for a long time, and felt deep gratitude when Sean kissed his temple and told him they could call and thank her another day.

It was their very first Valentine’s Day together in any real way, and they ended it lying on a comforter on the floor of his den, among a mess of cushions. He had lit a stack of Sean’s candles he’d found in his bathroom and they had spent the evening looking at Valentine’s Day cards, notes, and even artwork on a Tumblr page someone had set up for them.

After the kind of attention they had received in Johnston, he would have thought he’d be used to strangers being so conscious of their relationship. But he still wasn’t. It was still very surprising.

While Sean absently stroked his arm, his mind went back to the previous three Valentine’s Days, specifically to the two before Sean’s public coming out, and to how Sean had always brought him his smile and a complement of flowers. Even if he’d been away on the day itself, Sean would do it after. 

And how he would carefully take the flowers, thanking Sean… then figure out where to put them so he wouldn’t have to be reminded of them.

He had been such a paranoid idiot.

As he was falling asleep he remembered to ask Sean whether he liked the scent of the candles.

“Lilacs,” Sean confirmed, his deep, quiet voice laced with appreciative tone. “You’d better believe I love ‘em.”

“There you go,” he muttered, tightening his arm around Sean’s chest. “Don’t tell me I wasn’t paying attention during aromatherapy. I know my stuff.”

“You sure do, sweetheart. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

“No,” he murmured from the borderland of sleep. “That would be me.”

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

For almost a week, Holden didn’t mention Alastair or Cecelia, or what, if any, communications they were having about the wedding.

And though he had been the one to send Holden back to his condo to get back in the groove of being home, after being here for a short time and being reminded of how easy and perfect they had always been together—how intense their _like_ was for each other, and how it had always made being around each other so pleasurable—he found he didn’t have the heart to prod Holden any further. Questions along the lines of “What’re you doing about the wedding so far,” now seemed particularly selfish after so many months of stress on Holden. Most of it courtesy of him. 

Therefore he let Holden be. Whatever was going to happen with the wedding would happen.

He was pretty sure, though, that Alastair and Cecelia knew they were back in town, like they seemed to know everything else about their son. And it was their silence he was finding hard to buy. It felt like they were up to something. But heck if he was going to go asking.

So with Holden at work during the day, he took himself out to the spacious living room balcony for some natural daylight, and the illusion of wide open space. Encased in glass though it was, the balcony overlooked the city all the way to the surrounding mountains, and on a clear day it was not a bad place to be. Here he could always fool himself that he was somewhere other than in West L.A. Originally he had planned to stay just a couple of days, but upon seeing the way Holden had looked at his weekend bag when he had first arrived, he had decided he could definitely miss the surf for a few more days.

Settling into Holden’s frou-frou, period French model-home balcony, he got down to tackling Kara’s folder of options. 

That first morning, Holden had come out to the balcony dressed and ready for work and had given his setup a conscientious once over. Obviously, a bit worried about the success of his integration into his home.

“Do you need anything?” Holden asked.

He had tapped his cheek.

Holden had smiled and breathed a kiss into his beard, the scent of lilacs from the previous night somehow still lingering on him, and had happily gone to work.

So far he made good progress on his offseason scheduling; endorsement photoshoots, PSA recording, guest appearances, charity events—all the things he was supposed to enjoy doing but always felt no less than work—all mostly read and nicely slotted into their proper hierarchies. If it turned out he _did_ a wedding to plan this offseason, though, he was _so_ happily dumping all of it. 

Well, most of it. He had to make sure Paula got paid in a way that reflected all her hard work, and ditching endorsement photoshoots was one way of ensuring she missed out. He’d haul his ass to at least a couple of those things, get made up and look pretty for the camera. All in a day’s work, he supposed.

He gave up trying to evade and got down to it.

And as the days progressed, he knew he had made the right call in not pushing, as he saw Holden’s spirits gradually lifting. A couple days after Valentine’s Day they Skyped with Allison and spoke with Deena, thanking her for the card. She was still being brave and not wanting to give in to tears, but during the call he didn’t know who was being braver, she or Holden. 

And as Deena inducted Holden into leaning into “the computer space” to kiss the screen, he caught Allison’s eyes. He knew that they were thinking how different a scene it was from all the other times he had ever called to complain about Holden.

After that, they settled into a simple, purely escapist routine. 

Each morning he ate Holden’s surprisingly delicious breakfasts, the only meal Holden was adept at making because he generally didn’t go out for it, but for dinner he prepared the meals. Simple ones, but ones he knew Holden liked, and it was around then that he noted that keeping him company while he prepared dinner made Holden relax and begin talking a bit more.

And in the mornings he did go down to use the building’s admittedly state of the art gym. The manager, to his surprise, had been waiting for him. 

When he asked him to make sure he had the right person, Xander, the quite good looking, very buff manager, replied with an enthusiastic laugh. “Yeah!” he had crowed. “Holden called telling me to be on the lookout for you, make sure everything’s all set for you to use our amenities. Hey, where’s he been? He used to come in here three times a week _without fail,_ ” Xander said, laughing. “Never does a minute over an hour and _never_ on weekends.” 

He laughed, finding that pretty funny. 

“Just as much as it takes to stay fit, huh?” Xander had noted.

“That’s him, all right.”

Xander was only too thrilled at the notion of “helping train Sean Jackson,” which he said he knew he wasn’t about to do but was looking forward to bragging about it anyway. And he did in fact make it very accommodating for him to get what he needed, for which he was really grateful. And he had to concede that the gym did look out onto the complex’s very pretty back gardens, so it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant atmosphere.

Afternoons he went in to reconnect with members of his team, meet any new hires on their teams; he saw his lawyers, his financial advisers, and Kara, who was extremely impressed with his proactive attitude. 

She had nodded approvingly when he had told her that it was probably because he was landlocked in Westwood, and she had told him to consider permanently moving in with Holden. He told her that that hurt his feelings, and she had freaked out, and he had had to calm her and assure her he was only kidding… 

Just another day with Kara, if he was wondering whether he was really back in L.A.

During the evenings when he had time, he caught up with the sports press, reading the mostly repetitious reviews of his season performance. The pundits did their usual thing of getting hooked on one angle and sticking to it like an uncovered law of physics. But unlike last season, putting aside his series of hiccups in October, the reviews were all positive. Their predictions were that next season looked even better for Sean Jackson. Predictions he took to heart.

And soon enough, Holden started giving him sober, covert looks that inadvertently looked like he was flirting. But he knew it mainly meant that Holden was returning to his normal, curious self.

“Glad I made you come back here?” he asked one morning, when he caught him stealing looks at him over his glass of orange juice.

“Maybe,” Holden said, smiling into his glass. 

He had smiled and let him finish his juice.

And so for one blissful week, they decompressed from the last few months of their lives in blissful contentment. Until, at last, Alastair called.

~*~

They were on Holden’s bedroom balcony on a cool, clear evening, one week after Valentine’s Day. This balcony was differently set up from the living room one, and was cozier. It was also encased in glass, but it was a mini arboretum, stuffed with tall green plants and an ornate iron railing that was set a few feet from the glass. The railing was hip-high and cushioned for seating and enjoying the view. Which, in the midst of checking his phone’s messages, he was very much doing.

For the first time during this time of year, his early offseason, he wasn’t thinking about their relationship. Not about what might happen in a month’s time, or about whether Holden was having second thoughts that they might be spending too much time together. His life had resolved quite simply to the here and now. 

And the here and now was currently eating a snack of strawberry shortcake he had made for him, and was telling him how he had been downloading pictures off the web from their time in Johnston.

“You know what’s really amazing?” Holden asked, sounding amazed. “Davey’s artistically gifted as a photographer. Did you know that?”

“No…” he said, scrolling his call list, absently remembering something he might have seen to do with a photograph Davey had taken of him and Holden…

“Well, he is. Which is pretty funny if you’ve ever met the guy. There’s a truly jaw droppingly beautiful one he took of you and Deena. Have you seen it?”

“No…” he said absently, recalling a photo Davey might have shown him on his phone after the bonfire…

“You’ve got her in your lap and she’s just passed out. I think it was after the bonfire. I downloaded it for my phone. And it was in the middle of doing that, which was, I think, the one thousandth photo I’d downloaded, that I realized I’d turned into someone’s _aunt._ ”

“Well, you’re the hottest aunt I’ve ever seen.”

Holden chortled.

Still dressed in his work suit, Holden was seated on the railing, his large feet safety before them where he could keep an eye out. Because even with his feet flat on the ground, there was somehow room for Holden to uncoordinated himself. He himself sat facing him, straddling the railing with one hand on the small of his back.

His free hand was scrolling the phone messages. With both of them in one place, and him knowing to snatch a real vacation before the heavens inevitably descended on them, he had taken to leaving his phone somewhere in the condo during the day. Evenings he would hunt it down and check his missed calls and maybe listen to some voicemail. And it was as he was scrolling his call list that he came upon the missed call from Alastair.

He didn’t change his expression, just kept scrolling.

When he reached the bottom he tapped out of the list and checked to see if Alastair had left voicemail. He had. 

He tapped the play button and brought the phone up to his ear while Holden paused in his narration, scooping and licking away at his shortcake.

Pressing the phone tightly to his ear to prevent sound leakage, he listened to Alastair’s confident tones. _Welcome back, Sean, it’s been a while. We ought to catch up, just the two of us. Give me a call._

He brought the phone down, tapped to end the call, then leaned forward and slid the phone onto the center table. Then, with his hands securely on Holden’s back and stomach, he tried eating bites of shortcake from the side of his mouth. Holden charmingly snorted laughter, then offered him the rest of the cake from his little bowl, which he declined. He explained that it didn’t taste as good that way and gave him another lick to express his point.

Holden smiled ravishingly and told him it tasted good any way he ate it. 

And he quietly absorbed Holden’s smile, knowing he was going to have to work harder for it in just a little bit.

~*~

Waiting until the last possible minute before leaving the penthouse to call Holden, he stood in the foyer and tapped his number.

It was just after eleven in the morning and Alastair had arranged a noon lunch for them at the Bel Air Country Club. And though he was leaving with plenty of time to make it, he was giving himself room in case he got hooked up on a call that didn’t go well.

Holden answered and he propped his elbow on the door and told him where he was headed.

There was a bewildered silence.

“He called you?”

“Uh huh.”

“And you’re going?”

“I kinda have to.”

“No, you don’t,” Holden said, almost incredulously.

“Yeah, I do,” he replied, reiterating the words he had rehearsed. “Sweetheart, there are certain things we have to accept now. It would be like if my dad asked you—”

“Don’t,” Holden urgently whispered, as though he had said something extremely hurtful. “Please don’t.”

He pressed his lips tightly, heaving a sigh he made sure didn’t carry into the receiver.

From Alastair’s barely contained tone in his message, he thought he might know why Alastair had called him. And it wasn’t for the reasons Holden was anticipating. Definitely not about the wedding. No matter that Alastair’s scrutiny wasn’t necessary at this juncture, or that he didn’t completely deserve to be subjected to it, he had heard it loud and clear: Something had gone seriously amiss between Holden and him, and Alastair wanted to know why.

And as strange as it seemed, he wanted to tell him why. There would be no details, but he felt he was overdue to have, or rather to continue, this conversation with Alastair.

“I’m coming with you.”

“There’s no need,” he said gently.

“Of course there’s a need. How are you okay with this?”

“I’m okay with it,” he assured him.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter if you’re okay with it,” Holden said as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s not open for discussion. Wh-what happens between us is none of his business.”

Ah, so Holden kind of understood as well.

“I thought you were worried about what he was going to do about the wedding,” he couldn’t help asking, trying to distract Holden. But Holden’s tempered silence told him everything he needed to know about that strategy. “I know it’s not his business, sweetheart,” he answered him.

“Sean, you don’t owe him anything.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“So why are you going?”

“He just wants to feel relevant. It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

“But we have to set boundaries with him. With _both_ of them. Going to this lunch is like opening a door to them. If we don’t make it a point to keep them out of our private lives, they’ll have us live-feeding our honeymoon. I’m not kidding, Sean,” Holden continued, not giving him room to answer. “He already considers us employees as it is.”

He pressed his phone to his ear, wanting to hold his frustrated guy just as badly. “Holden,” he said gently. Then when there was only silence, “Sweetheart.”

“Yes?”

“He just wants to be heard. I can listen.”

There was more silence. Then Holden curtly said, “Don't discuss the wedding with him.”

Well, there that was. “I promise I won’t discuss anything wedding related with him.”

“And don’t say I didn’t warn you when he comes up with something out of left field.”

“And I won’t say you didn’t warn me if he suggests something crazy.”

That seemed to calm Holden a little, who took a quiet breath he heard clearly over the phone. “Listen to me Sean,” Holden in a soft voice. “If you come back… with any kind of bullshit going on with you that involves you leaving me to go find yourself someplace other than in my bedroom, I will lock you up in the bathroom and feed you Kibble until you get over it.”

He laughed his ass off. Now he desperately wished he could hug him.

“That kind of thing is never gonna happen between me and you again,” he said. “You have my word on that.” Then lowered his voice. “Give me a kiss, sweetheart.”

“Call me as soon as you’re done,” Holden said, ignoring his attempt at buttering up. "Better yet, stop by. I don’t want you trying to make it sound better than it went over the phone.”

“No kiss?” he asked in a hurt tone.

“Come and get it after you’ve had your lunch with your best friend.”

He chuckled, disconnecting after Holden.

Well, that made it official, in case he had ever been in doubt. The rocky road with the Wilson men absolutely ran both ways.

~*~

The lunch room at the Bel Air Country Club sat atop a hill overlooking an expanse of golf course that seemed to have no end. The linens and glassware glinted brightly in the clear afternoon sunlight, dappling on the softly conversing diners sprinkled around the room. And the room itself was sparsely occupied, leaving him with the impression that the Club didn’t take reservations above a certain number per lunch period.

Though he was ten minutes early, Alastair was already seated at his table by the bay windows, a toothpick in his mouth, his spectacles on the bridge of his nose, and reading from his phone. He looked up as the maitre’d walked him over.

“Hi, Sean,” he said in a low voice, standing up to shake his hand. “Good to see you again.”

“You too, Al,” he replied, returning his handshake.

The clear sunlight was almost luminous on Alastair’s face, his pale complexion and his eyes reminding him so much of Holden that he had to blink several times. 

In the midst of regaining his composure, he was suddenly and without warning reminded of Holden on a clear bright morning a little over year ago, seated across from him in a very similar situation. One in which he had also been summoned by a phone call for the purposes of doing justice to his feelings. 

Well, he thought, settling himself in, here was to hoping he reached a watershed moment with this meeting as well.

They hadn’t seen or spoken since that appalling dinner three of them had had following his and Holden's return from their stay at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Alastair had been long gone by the time Holden had consolidated his humiliation in the hotel parking lot, but by now he was sure that very little went on with his son that Alastair didn’t know about.

He ordered a lemon iced tea and sat forward while Alastair asked about his family; how they were doing, presuming they had been glad to see him, that sort of thing. Alastair had always expressed a certain interest in his background, because, he had once said, he didn’t seem like a typical football player. So he was only too happy to fill him in on what might be the internal goings-on of the average Midwestern family. 

Soon they were catching up on to the last six months, and though he and Alastair had always shared a genuine rapport, he was certain that in being so thorough about his season Alastair was also guaranteeing himself a chance to ask the kind of questions he wished, without seeming to be digging.

But he was definitely digging.

Not for details, which he hadn’t come to divulge and which Alastair didn’t seem to want anyway. Rather, he seemed to need clarification, as if merely trying to get his own facts straight. 

He knew what was coming. He knew that when it came to Holden, despite what Alastair could be like, the mutual ground on which they both stood was love. Therefore it stood to reason that where there had been a violation of that love, there would be a reckoning. 

And he was fine with that. As long as Alastair also understood what that fully meant.

So he told him a few things, because it was better than ignoring him the way Holden had been doing. But he kept it all vague, speaking only in the most normalizing of terms, about the usual frustrations faced by any couple at a certain stage in their relationship, and especially leading up to the wedding. He glossed over the rougher patches, and shrugged off the things he didn’t want to expound on.

Through it all, Alastair’s blue eyes stayed unflinchingly on him. 

Glancing often at him as he spoke, he braced himself, because there was no mistaking that despite his facile talk, Alastair looked irritated.

Holden was right, of course, that they approach Alastair with caution. As when it came to his son, they had seen what Alastair was capable of with a few choice words.

And notably, Alastair didn’t once ask or seem to care whether it had been a matter of infidelity. After months of making innuendos, he’d thought his possible fooling around on Holden might have been the thing on Alastair’s mind. But, he should have guessed it would never have been that.

Wrapping up his whitewashing, he gave Alastair one final glance and waited.

Alastair had taken a breath and sat up toward the end of his speech. Now he picked up his fork again and resumed eating his meal.

“Sean,” he said briskly. “I know what my son is like. There isn’t a more stubborn human being alive. But you have to understand that I’m not going to sit by and let anyone take him for granted, you least of all.”

Studiously tracing condensation on his glass of tea, he raised an eyebrow at the slight. Frank and charismatic like his son. But completely lacking in the compassion to make those traits easier to swallow.

Still, he knew exactly what what the assessment signified; the lowly place on the totem pole on which Alastair placed a mere consort to his princely son.

“Al,” he said slowly, feeling that nevertheless ground rules ought to be laid. Holden would have blown a gasket had he heard his father’s words. “You once told me when we first met that I should know when to stop you.”

“Not gonna happen, Sean. You’re gonna hear this. I’ve watched idiots up and down this country throw their children’s lives away, exposing them to predatory lifestyles and all kinds of terrible things because of one ridiculous notion or the other. Well, my son is not an orphan, and I’m not standing for anyone treating him as though he were. So you’re gonna listen to me.”

He clamped his lips.

_So far, so good._

So for Alastair, there was indeed more to his actions than mere family name stuff.

Evenly, he gave him a nod to go ahead.

“Sean, without exception Holden was turned down every man from here to the Mideast that’s propositioned him. But he chose you.” And then Alastair stopped talking, perhaps wanting the words to sink in better, perhaps wanting to understand them himself. “And while you were gone during this last football season, I saw a side of my son I didn’t know existed. I saw the _effects_ of your absence on him. I saw the hangovers… the confusion, the— _misery._ I was the one to find Holden Dr. Markham.”

Alastair then stopped once more, concentrating on cutting up his food, as if the thoughts going through his head needed to pass without being spoken.

His elbow on the table and a hand on the stem of his glass, he tried not to show any reaction. He had never heard any of this. He had listened to Holden being drunk on the other end of their phone calls and had presumed so many wrong things. He could throw up from the shame roiling inside him.

“I watch my son’s life like my own because nothing on earth is more important to me. Nothing. And I don’t care what he feels about you, I don’t care what he will or won’t let you do, it’s what _I_ won’t let you do. So the next time you have a problem with him, I don’t care how bad it is, you be a man and work it out.”

Again, Alastair stopped talking. Then, vehemently, he said, “You get that? Because the next time, and I want you to hear me when I tell you this— the next time you leave him high and dry, make him go chasing after you like some abandoned wife in a state welfare system, Sean, I promise you, I won’t make it easy for you to get him back.”

He raised stunned eyes at Alastair, his heart skipping a hard beat.

Alastair was now staring firmly at him, in an apparent attempt to control his temper. There was no doubt he meant every word he had said.

“This is between me and you, Sean. Make sure this _mess_ doesn’t happen again. I hope we can be clear on that.”

Prepared though he had been for this meeting, he hadn’t been quite as prepared for how embarrassing facing this head on would be. It wasn’t like talking about it with Davey.

Embarrassed though he was, however, he could see that he had Alastair at a disadvantage. 

He and Holden had worked things out, and together they had crossed a point as two people, ready to share their love in a way that both weakened and made them stronger. They weren’t afraid of what their love could bring out in either of them.

Alastair, on the other hand, in his desperate and defensive need to safeguard his only child from a situation he found entirely novel and frightening, was only getting started.

He kept his eyes on Alastair as he said, “I’m clear on it.”

“What the _hell_ happened to you Sean,” Alastair suddenly blurted, his fork dropping on his bone china plate with a short clatter. “I expected better of you.”

He turned up a hand and candidly replied, “Your son’s got me fucked. What can I tell you?”

A beat passed in which Alastair looked surprised, then shook his head, frowning, as though unhappy with the fact that he was about to start laughing. 

“You’re not supposed to say it, Sean,” Alastair muttered, his mouth twisting. “You’re just supposed to—” he waved his fork a little “—deal with it.”

“Oh, I’m dealing.”

He sat quietly for some time, turning to stare out the window and parsing his thoughts on where to begin for Alastair’s side of things. 

“So this makes two of us that have deliberately hurt Holden’s feelings,” he eventually said.

And from the way Alastair seems to suddenly have a problem getting his food on his fork, he knew he had him.

“If we’re gonna have this talk, Al,” he said slowly. “Then let’s have this talk.”

Alastair still didn’t respond. He watched him eat his food. 

Eventually Alastair said in a gravelly voice, “Go on.”

“Thanks,” he said, unhurriedly. “And I appreciate you listening. Look, I understand everything you’ve said to me about Holden. I understand your fears and concerns for him. But there’s one thing you have to understand as well. Holden is my responsibility now,” he said in firm, clear tones. “He’s mine to take care of. Believe me,” he added, when Alastair gave him an ominous look. “I get the things that only a father can do for his son and I’m not here to take any of that from you. But you need to come to terms with my role in your family, in _this_ family, because it’s mine now too.”

He waited, one elbow on the table, for Alastair to challenge him on that. Alastair remained silent.

“So you personally have my apology for the way I treated your son…on the sole condition that you treat Holden’s feelings with more respect from now on.”

“His _feelings?_ ” Alastair nearly spat, no longer eating now. “I _care_ about him.”

“Then care about his feelings, too.”

Alastair’s face tightened in a frown, the concept apparently strange for him to grasp. 

But he didn’t push beyond stating it; one day Alastair would have understand it.

“Last summer when all that stuff was going down, when you and his mother were treating his feelings about me like some kinda running joke, I asked no less of you. But you just threw out everything I had to say.”

Alastair was staring unblinkingly at him, and he was looking back just as hard.

“Well, now I’m telling you. I want you to _listen_ when Holden talks to you. I know it’s hard for you. I know how crazy we sons can make our dads. But if you don’t try and change the way you deal with him, you’re going to lose him. You’re going to make life difficult for him, and I know that’s exactly what you don’t want.”

Alastair turned away, lowering his eyes to the floor, so much like his son. He sat in contemplation of the harlequin floor for a while, until, eventually, he let out a breath. “I’ve always known he wouldn’t get any easier to handle with age,” he muttered.

“Funny,” he said lightly. “He feels the same way about you.”

Alastair’s posture slackened, either with relief or with defeat, and he glanced at him and nodded. “I hear what you’re saying, and I get it. I’ll look to taking care of that.”

“And I’ll hold you to that.”

Alastair nodded once again, then he said, “You’re a good man, Sean.”

“Thanks.”

“And you remember that. Cause something tells me we’re gonna need you in this family before too long.”

Discreetly, he hid his surprise, and once again nodded his thanks.

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

After lunch he did as he had been instructed and reported directly to Century City.

Wilson Realty’s offices occupied the middle three floors of the Century Park East tower, which was where he got off the elevator. Following the wall plaques, he approached a set of wide wooden doors which quietly unclicked when he approached. He opened the doors and went inside.

The reception area looked like the library in an old estate home, all dark leather and mahogany. There were two receptionists behind the desk.

Before he could utter a word, he was greeted by one of them, a young African American woman whose eyes had bolted on him. He began telling her whom he was here to see only to have her jump to her feet and cry, “Mr. Jackson! I’ll tell him right away you’re here to see him. Please have a seat, it’ll only be a moment!” and quickly round the table and speed off.

Lifting an eyebrow, he watched her go. 

From the look he got from the other receptionist, an older man, he was sure his supposition was correct, that she was only meant to have picked up the phone and let whomever know he was here. Apparently, she’d gotten a little overexcited at conveying news of his arrival.

Curbing his amusement, he watched as the second receptionist, without betraying his clearly murderous thoughts, smiled at him and asked him to please give him just one moment.

“Send Rachel down, please,” he said cordially into the phone, then hung up. 

In the amount of time it took him to say “Thanks,” and look around for a place to sit and wait, a well put together fifty-something woman appeared from the opposite hallway from which the girl had gone.

“Good afternoon Sean,” the woman said pleasantly. “May I call you Sean?”

“Of course.”

“I’m Rachel, one of Mr. Wilson’s secretaries. I’ll take you in to see him right away. This way, please.”

He gave a fleeting glance at the opposite hallway, and the older receptionist made a quick, it’s fine, gesture.

“Well, tell her thanks, anyway,” he said, and the receptionist smiled and told him that he would.

He followed Rachel’s measured, sure steps down a spacious mahogany and bronze décored hallway. This one too ended in a set of wide polished wood doors. 

She pushed open one of the doors and they entered a second reception area with an even more exclusive, executive feel. Taking it all in, in addition to the way Holden’s home was decorated, it seemed that most of what Holden was surrounded with was carried forward from his father. And, from what he understood about the family, probably from Alastair’s father as well.

Turning smoothly to him, Rachel asked if he would like anything to drink. He said he was good, and she indicated a set of doors to his right and told him to go right in.

He went over to the doors, knocked, and heard Holden’s anxious voice immediately tell him to come in. 

He opened the door, peeked in, seeing Holden seated across the room behind a mahogany desk, staring with actual bated breath at him.

“What happened?” Holden promptly called.

Straightening, he further pushed open the door and stepped inside Holden’s office.

~*~

Turning to carefully close, then lock the door behind him, he took his time looking around Holden’s office while Holden stared at him with dread in his eyes.

In the four years they had known each other, he had never been inside Holden’s office. It seemed kind of weird now that he never had, but he’d never had any reason to.

The most striking thing about the office was that it was no different than any other executive office he had been in. In fact, he was struck by how all offices seemed to resemble each other, and he would forever be thankful that he hadn’t been fated to have to sit around in one all day.

Interestingly, however, much like his home, the decor here was also straight out of a model office catalogue, this time a chief executive officer’s. It could have easily been as it was when Alastair had been sitting behind the desk. He found that really interesting.

“What did he say to you?” Holden called from across the room.

He gave Holden a quick glance. But no sooner had he done so than his eyes alighted on the wall to Holden’s right.

He had been wrong about the most striking thing in the office.

“Sean.”

The wall held a framed commemorative action shot of him on the field—from Sports Illustrated, he believed, and an original from the photographer, not from print. Underneath the commemorative issues usually read his records. And if at some point he had signed it in Kara’s office, it would also have his signature. The commemoratives were expensive, and only the die hard fans ever picked them up.

And yet it wasn’t even that that caught his eye.

In a glass box beneath the photograph sat the pink pro-gloves he had worn for breast cancer awareness month that past October.

Astonished, he walked over.

“I mean, who _summons_ people, for goodness sake?” Holden said in exasperation, perfectly okay to go on without him. “He’s like some evil king in a fairy tale, getting wind of some princely knight that’s going to come and take over his kingdom and wanting to quickly do something about it.” Bent over at the glass box, he slipped Holden a bashful, honored look which went completely unnoticed.

“Who _gives_ themselves this kind of _power._ Sean,” Holden repeated, his eyes on him at the glass box. “What did he want?”

But he was back to staring at the gloves. He remembered that he had signed them… Yup. _Denver, October 19, 2010._

A pool of warmth flowed into his groin. They were the gloves he had worn for the Broncos game, where the night before Holden had met him at the Teatro Hotel in downtown Denver, in the suite with the stunning view of the Rocky Mountains. 

That had been the night, during that period he was still trying to clutch at, when Holden had brought with him some sex toys and had nearly crippled him, in good and bad ways, avidly learning how to use them. The following day they had lost that Denver game 24-17. 

And he regretted nothing.

Fuck, those were some good times.

He straightened and checked to see that his signature was indeed on the SI photograph. It was. Those gloves, though, were tough as hell to come by and not even Kara could have gotten them for Holden. So while he had been hassling Holden about not seeing each other through November, Holden had been bidding for his gloves on the internet. 

And Holden must have done it himself and not farmed it out to an assistant, because it was just the kind of private thing that Holden would do out of love.

The warmth inside him had expanded into his chest, filling it with pride, humility, and love. And a deep sexual arousal that only seemed to find him when Holden displayed professional loyalty to him.

He gave a sidelong look at Holden, who was still staring motionlessly at him as if he couldn’t understand when he had lost his hearing.

He pointed to the items as he moved away from them. “These are nice,” he said appreciatively.

Holden looked at the glass cases as if he had never seen them before. His eyes returned to him. “What did he want? Did he say something offensive to you?”

“No,” he stated categorically.

By now he had reached Holden’s desk and he could better see Holden’s eyes. They were definitely cloudy with a chance of thunderstorms. But in their blue depths was also ringed a certain…nervousness.

Which didn’t surprise him. It was consistent with what he was beginning to notice about Holden when it came to his parents.

He was beginning to understand that Holden’s reaction to Alastair’s abuse last summer had not been an anomaly. Because despite how much Holden railed against them, when it came to his parents there was a vulnerability in him that radiated through. And in much the same way he had spent three years fighting the feelings he evoked in him, he noticed that Holden fought it every step of the way.

“I am so mad at him for doing this. But— I guess maybe it’s my fault that—” Holden cut himself off.

Coming around to sit on Holden’s desk, he looked expectantly at Holden.

“I sent him a text,” Holden said with a guilty glance up at him. “I told him I was back in town and that I’d get in touch with him, but— maybe I should have just left things as they were. I thought it would give me a little more time. But I didn’t follow up and maybe he thought…”

Holden left off finishing, his features taking on a calm, unperturbed look. He continued to look at Holden for a moment, but knew it meant Holden had decided it wasn’t worth discussing. That he was just going to have to do whatever he felt was necessary.

“He didn’t ask about the wedding,” he pointed out hopefully to Holden.

“Then what did he want?” Holden asked softly, not looking at him.

“Nothing, really.”

“Please don’t give me that.”

He shrugged. “He just needed me to hear a couple of things, sweetheart. Just like I said on the phone.”

“What couple of things?” And at his silence, “And Sean— you don’t look entirely happy.”

He shrugged again. “It was an overdue thing. It’s really no different from what went down with my family.”

Holden briefly closed his eyes. “Please stop bringing up your family as comparison. Please.”

“Holden, what you saw back there was the result of years of hard work. As a family we had to learn to trust each other and work things out. It’s gotta be the same with your folks. Look, I know what they’re capable of, I’ve seen it, but… they’re gonna to be in our lives and…”

There was no point in continuing. Holden was staring at the floor, next to where his feet had settled beside his office chair, and the closing off of his thoughts was complete. It was evident that the theme was too difficult for Holden. And he didn’t wish to continue and be the cause of it.

When he tried to catch Holden’s gaze, Holden studiously kept it from him. 

He suppressed a sigh. 

This summer was going to be one hell of an offensive play with this family. A play whose strategy he still hadn’t figured out.

And however he thought to handle it, it was looking like he wasn’t even going to have much a team to work with. Holden was acting like a reluctant running back, unwilling to take the ball even if it was passed to him, and Alastair was so far nothing more than an untested receiver. Cecelia, he knew, was a complete wildcard.

He kept his gaze on Holden and when Holden finally looked at him, gave him a slight smile. Holden continued to resolutely withhold his emotional approval, breaking eye contact to return to staring at his paperwork. Picking up his pen, he began tapping it on his paperwork.

Deciding on a different tactic, he asked softly, “You know what?”

Holden didn’t respond for a few moments. Then, sweeping a quick look at him, he asked him what.

“I think I might have sucked too much sweetness out of you last night. You’re all…off.”

Holden’s expressionless countenance didn’t change. And to his great amusement, he didn’t even blush. 

Then Holden lifted a patient look at him and said, “My sweetness levels are fine.”

“No, they’re not,” he countered softly.

Holden blinked repeatedly, measuredly tapping away with his pen. He didn’t seem to know what to do about him. “There is one way to test it though,” he offered. And this time Holden gave him a stormy look, which he ignored. Slowly moving forward, he straddled Holden’s thighs and lowered himself squarely into his lap.

Holden held himself stiffly, attempting to shift bodily back in the chair, but he grabbed the high back and leveraged himself higher into Holden’s lap.

Thus settled comfortably, he braced both feet on the floor, and in the heat between their inches-apart lips, he slid out his tongue and licked at Holden’s upper lip. Holden quirked his mouth, to indicate he wasn’t impressed, he supposed. He stared down at Holden’s impassive face.

“Are you upset because he didn’t try to do something funny?” he asked softly.

“I’m upset because they’re presumptuous,” Holden said heatedly. “Incredibly, inappropriately presumptuous. Sean, I-I’m happy you get along with my dad, but the man’s a jerk with no incentive to be otherwise. An-and my mother, you don’t even want to get into her way of doing things. But you’ve seen them, you know what they’re like. Were it up to me we’d— Sean,” Holden suddenly said softly, taking hold of his torso and running his hands sensuously up and down his body. “Let’s get out of this. Let’s not end up being an extension of the family business. I wanna be with you and I would go with you to that cabin in Hawaii if you asked me to. W-we could get married there and this would— this would all be over and we could… just… get on with our lives.”

Surprised, he looked at Holden.

They both knew that eloping to some cabin was the last thing Holden wanted to do. He was well aware of how much Holden was looking forward to a big, fun ceremony with half the people on the planet. And it was nothing short of a bad sign that Holden was offering to do it, or anything at all, just to appease him.

Holden lowered his eyes. “They make me so crazy.”

Gently, he touched Holden’s chin. “I used to make you crazy,” he said softly. “And we got past that, didn’t we?”

Holden raised his eyes up at him. “Are you kidding?” he asked in a flat tone.

He burst into laughter. Then tightening his grip on the back of the chair, he bent forward until their mouths were back where he preferred it. “I still make you crazy?”

“Every day.”

“ _Every_ day?” he asked incredulously, lowering his hand to trace the swelling that formed and was now seeking attention in Holden’s lap. “It seems I still have a lot to make up for.”

Holden didn’t reply. His mouth had parted slightly and his breaths were coming in shallower. He continued to stroke the back of his fingers over the warm ridge, feeling it hardening beneath his fingers. He softly pushed into it, licking his lip as Holden’s fingers tightened on his back. “I take back what I said earlier,” he whispered. “There might still be some stuff left in there.”

Holden blinked and tightened his hands on his back. “Sean, stop what you’re doing. We’re not having sex in my office.”

“Who said anything about sex?”

“Neither am I getting a blow job,” Holden insisted, somehow prying his hand from his back to halt his hand. “This isn’t a locker room, you know.”

He laughed and sat back, looking at Holden. Holden looked as perfectly serious as a person could with a warm flush creeping up his face. But he was serious. Holden then made him get up, pushing at him with one hand, yet holding tight to his waist with the other. He seemed both upset at him for seeing his dad, but wanting some assurance that he had lived through it okay. So, crouching down beside his chair, he waited until Holden looked fully at him before looking deep into his eyes.

“Kiss me, beautiful,” he told him gently. “You promised me after lunch.”

And Holden finally leaned forward in his chair and gave him a soft, deep kiss.

~*~

Holden came home earlier than usual that evening, showering and changing into a pair of sweatpants, and bringing with him into the living room a huge coffee table book which he set on the coffee table next to his feet, then wandered off. He took a look at the book’s cover. Above a dreamy nighttime image of a happy, expensively dressed bride and groom, running even more dreamily towards a private jet, were the elaborately printed words, _Elite Soirée._

Oh, so it was on. It was time to meet Alastair and Cecelia head-on. With a very thick book full of…wedding stuff.

_Gr…eat…_

He sighed and sat back.

Presumably they were to resume where they had left off in the fall; talking about where to have the wedding, if he remembered correctly. He didn't remember them coming to a decision about it, or about anything else relating to the ceremony for that matter. Unless he was forgetting a whole swatch of things. Which was quite possible. 

He gave it some thought. 

But the silence in the room only drew attention to the dull thudding and low cursing going on in the kitchen where Holden was getting himself a snack. 

When Holden had banged into his usual quota of counters and objects, he reappeared holding a pear of all things, sat on the coffee table next to his feet, and immediately began talking of Johnston.

“Not for the ceremony itself, of course,” Holden clarified, because he had assured him that unless they were going to have it atop Bradford Hill in the dead of winter, preferably during a breathtakingly, sexy as hell winter storm, he wasn’t heading back home for his wedding ceremony. He was still holding out hope for a Pacific Island beach romp.

“…which was what made me think about it. So, how about we have a wedding dinner there. But instead of just a family sit down dinner, we make it a kind of town celebration at your parents’ and invited everyone. We could even get Deena and her friends to decorate the house.”

He listened wordless to the notion and watching Holden, he kept the love and heartbreak he was feeling from his eyes. For Holden, sitting here in his own hilltop castle far removed from the real world, his time with his family and in his hometown seemed so special, so magical, that it was enough to make him want to capture one of the most important events of his life there.

As flattering as it was, he didn’t think it bode well for the months ahead.

“What’d you think?”

“I think it’s not a bad idea,” he said honestly.

“That’s settled then,” Holden murmured, biting into his pear and flipping slowly through the huge book. “I’ve narrowed down how we can do this. In acquisitions it’s a simple problem,” he said, going on to explain a model that was actually quite complex sounding. 

“So for us,” Holden continued, pausing momentarily to observe the pages, “a list would be, outdoors… evening… _no_ beach and sand…”

“You mean no cabin in Hawaii?” he couldn’t resist asking.

“Lots of fragrant flowers,” Holden continued, pointedly, giving him a smile so cute he almost forgot what they were talking about. “And thank you for bringing up something I said in a moment of weakness. Very supportive of you.”

He grinned.

“Preferably naturally occurring…” Holden continued listing their criteria, “…and with a sense of intimacy. If that can be managed,” he finished in a voice heavy with skepticism. “Vis-à-vis, the groom’s parents.”

While his laptop warmed lightly his lap, he watched Holden blink thoughtfully at what looked like an index of locations. Then Holden turned the book toward him and pointed at a line. “How ‘bout that? Page one-fifteen.”

Taking the heavy book, he flipped to the appropriate page. A blue, green and bronze panoramic view spread out before him. 

“Jesus,” he said, staring at the facing pages. “Is this a real place?”

“Yes, and there are two dozen more like it.“

“No, no, this is perfect,” he said, handing the book back to Holden. 

“Perfect?” Holden said, nearly laughing. “We just got started.”

“It’s beautiful, though,” he said, not having to fake his enthusiasm. “Can you circle it or something? Or…make a star?”

Holden took the book, struggling with amusement. “Sure. I can also put glitter and ponies around it if you want.”

He sat back and put his feet back up. “That would be awesome.” 

Then something else came to him. “Don’t you have to make venue reservations for years in advance for these places?”

“Not years,” Holden said, even more amused. “It depends on the size of the wedding. If we have a manageable amount of people, these guys can make it happen if we set it say, in July.”

“A manageable amount of people? What happened to a cast of thousands?”

“That’s a manageable amount of people,” Holden said.

He chuckled. “Can’t wait to see what the reception’s gonna look like.”

Holden appeared about to say something, then, instead, took a moment turning a few more pages, while slowly finishing his pear. Then he quietly said, “Well, maybe you and your BFF Alastair can figure that out together.”

“Maybe we can all figure it out together,” he returned.

“Oh?” Holden said, after a few more seconds of silence, his eyes ostensibly scanning the glossy pages of the book. “I didn’t know I was invited.” 

Then Holden fell completely silent, his features, as usual, giving away every single depraved thought he was having about patricide.

With a few more turns of the pages, Holden couldn’t seem to fake concentration anymore and slowly shut the book. Setting it by his hip, he said “I think I’m going to go look over some work.”

“Work? I thought we were in the middle of something.”

“We can continue tomorrow,” Holden said impassively, standing up and bending over to retrieve his pear core. “I’m just not feeling up to it right now.”

“You’re gonna leave me high and dry? I was enjoying this.”

“I know, and I’m- I’m sorry,” he said, sounding so. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

Then he left for the upper floor.

Minutes later, while he sat there scrubbing his fingers through his beard hoping Alastair’s evening had just turned as crappy, Holden's footsteps on the staircase brought back his attention.

Holden had changed his clothes and was descending the stairs dressed impeccably in gleaming wingtips and a black cocktail suit. He didn’t have a tie on and he had done something with his hair that was making stay in place.

His tongue sealed itself to the roof of his mouth.

“There’s a thing I have to go to,” Holden said, not looking at him. “I-I wasn’t planning on going, but I was thinking… that… maybe I should.”

“I think you should too,” he said gently. Holden nodded. Then he came over and brushed his lips through his beard, enveloping him in a haze of sex-related fragrance, before straightening and turning for the front door. But he reached out and took Holden’s fingers, halting him. 

Holden’s fingers didn’t come alive in grasp, merely resting limply against his palm. 

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said.

Holden nodded again, still looking tense, then slowly withdrew his fingers and continued to the front door.

He listened as the latch clicked quietly shut behind him. 

~*~

“I needed to get out of there,” he said softly to the ceiling. He kept his voice low so that only the three friends around him could hear. “His sunny attitude was driving me crazy.”

“But that’s why you love him,” Petey cried softly. “How sweet _is_ he! And combined with those _deadly_ eyes…” Petey gasped dramatically. “I would _pass_ out.”

“Unfortunately, _sweet_ isn’t what Holden is looking for to instill confidence in him right now, Petey,” Elliot murmured, over the clinking of his cocktail fork picking through his plate of hors d’oeuvres. “I don’t think.”

“Thank you,” he said softly to Elliot. Then, still staring at the ceiling, he sighed and closed his eyes.

Tonight’s outing marked the first he had seen of his friends since his return from Johnston. He had hoped they would be meeting under happier circumstances. Elliot, not unlike Craig’s reaction when they had been watching Sean's Valentine’s Day interview, had looked sympathetically at him and had told him he looked older. He had told him he _felt_ older.

With his eyes closed, the sounds of the cocktail evening reached him one at a time, like notions from separate places. He didn’t know why, maybe from familiarity, but he found a sense of comfort in these events. Or maybe it was because, even if in the course of his workday he did nothing of any use to the average person, he could at least end the day knowing he had helped paid a family’s medical bills. And the setup was quite nice. St. Jude’s Children’s was by far one of his favorite charities, and this time the organizers had eschewed the hotel’s ballroom for the lobby, going for islands of deep love seats, low tables, and gleaming gold candles.

Had Valentine’s Day only been last week…

“Besides, you should be happy your father and your future husband get along,” Petey said reproachfully. “Especially seeing that the father in question is Alastair Wilson.”

He brought his head down and looked at Petey. “It’s not a matter of them getting along. It’s a question of where my family ends and I begin. I thought that—” but he clamped up.

He had been about to say that after everything that had happened last summer, all the nastiness that his parents, and himself, had put Sean through, that Sean would be the first person to want to keep them at arm’s length. But he had never been comfortable talking about personal things to other people, even his closest friends, and he had only brought this up to begin with because these three were the few people who knew what his parents were really like.

When he didn’t say anything further, Craig stepped in.

“Holden, look. On Cecelia’s part alone, this wedding is going to be the biggest thing she’ll be pulling off in years, if not in her lifetime. She’ll probably be engaging a PR firm to handle the press whether you and Sean like it or not. And not to talk of Alastair, who wants to always make sure your family name is always spoken with a tinge of fear and reverence.”

He stared at Craig, feeling worse by the moment.

“Just know which battles to fight,” Craig said frankly. “This isn’t one of them.”

“The truth is, Holden,” Petey said in his upbeat way. “Craig, it pains me to say, is absolutely correct.”

“I’m not what’s causing you pain, _Peters,_ ” Craig interjected.

Elliot, slowly eating away, cackled.

“Alastair and Cece,” Petey continued with easy self-assurance, though he spared Craig one damning look, “really won’t see that they have a choice when it comes to this wedding. Aside from you being heir to their real estate empire, the media is going to cast this as a wedding of the decade sort of thing, because of who Sean is, and the couple being gay and all. Whether you like it or not, this is a big deal. Therefore it’s going to happen exactly how Alastair and Cece want it. As far as your parents are concerned, all you two have to do is show up.”

Feeling worse by the second, he looked to Elliot to gauge his response. Elliot looked resigned. 

With an apologetic shake of his head, Elliot said, “I wouldn’t fight, to be perfectly honest. It’s just not worth it.”

“Holden,” Petey said with an air of finality. “Count yourself lucky your parents aren’t torpedoing your relationship. Some heirs in your shoes aren’t so fortunate.”

“Well, it’s not for their lack of trying,” he replied.

But Petey had already turned from him and had plucked up a blueberry martini from a passing server, which he then held out like a consolation prize.

“Drink?”

Taking his eyes off Petey, he gazed at the martini’s shining azure depths.

“H…” Elliot intoned warningly.

The liquid gently swayed in the glass, and he looked up to find Petey blowing a hazy kiss at him.

“Have you ever tried fucking while wasted?” Craig asked matter-of-factly. “Not gonna be your best performance.”

His eyes flew to Elliot. Elliot looked questioningly back at him for a second, then started laughing helplessly.

“Petey,” Elliot said merrily. “I think you’ve lost a drinking buddy.”

Petey shrugged a slender shoulder and carefully placed the very pretty drink on the side table. “More for me, then.”

“Guys,” he said. “What should I do?”

“About your folks?” Craig asked.

“No,” he said, sometimes wondering why he bothered. “About Sean.”

“What does _he_ say?” Petey asked.

“That I should trust him,” he replied, turning to look at Petey but noticing that Elliot shrugged as if the words made sense.

“Well, then,” Petey pronounced. “Maybe you should.”

He went quiet at the non answer.

“Your suit is gorgeous, by the way,” Elliot said, with a very knowing look. “You look very…” Elliot stopped talking, making him look questioningly at him.

_Well fucked,_ Elliot mouthed.

“Holden is starting to _look_ like a player,” Craig said, grinning.

“Well, you would too, if you were fucking one of the three hottest things in the NFL.”

“Who’re the other two?” Elliot asked interestedly.

“A linebacker for the Chicago Bears and a tight end for the Raiders.”

Elliot had stilled in his consumption of his hors d’oeuvres. “Really?” Petey pursed his lips and nodded sagely. 

Then, letting out a belabored sigh, Petey daintily turned and picked up his martini. “Y’all excuse me, I’m in need of a wet one after that.”

Resting back, he closed his eyes and sighed again.

~*~

He left his friends and returned home, having resolved nothing in his head.

Sean was still up when he got back, but not in the living room following NFL statistics on ESPN, as he usually did this time of night.

Following the silence in his condo, he went upstairs, through his silent bedroom parlor, into his bathroom. All was quiet until he strained and heard faint sounds coming from beyond the bathroom. 

Beyond there, in the north facing portion of the penthouse, was a spa room he rarely used.

And there he found Sean, seated in chest high water in the jacuzzi, facing the door. 

Sean had his back to the night time vista behind him. The floor to ceiling windows gave probably the best view in the condo, but Sean, arms stretched along the back of the elevated stone tub, didn’t seem interested.

The large room contained iron chairs and cotton pool towels and was lined with stone shelves containing small bottles of oil and other things needed for a pampering. It had been one of the major selling points for the penthouse and when he had bought the place he had imagined long quiet evenings spent relaxing in it, absorbing the softly lit room after a hard day’s work, while being massaged by a “circumspect” masseuse with a gorgeous smile who would assure him that it would all end in him being “taken care of.”

Nothing like it ever happened, and in fact 90% of the time when he thought of using the room he only thought of how long he’d have to wait for the water to fill up.

Now, however, the function of the room came into soft, throbbing focus.

Slightly transfixed, he stood in the doorway staring at the wet hairs on Sean’s chest, slicked down from the water and gleaming from the light against his skin.

When he managed to move his eyes from Sean’s chest, he couldn’t make them come off his arms, following their length all the way down to Sean’s fingertips. Clean and glistening in the carefully placed mood lighting, they seemed to be begging to be carefully licked. 

And in an unburdened, heated, confine of his brain, a small sympathetic voice whispered to him that he wasn’t shallow for wanting this to the exclusion of everything else.

It didn’t make him a selfish or a poor person, it gently told him, for not being interested in sharing or arguing over things that were nobody’s business but his and Sean’s.

And watching Sean’s light eyes staring intensely at him, he knew that Sean was right there with him. As frustrated as he was by Sean’s willingness to be tolerant of his parents, but he knew that all Sean wanted was to make him happy.

And frankly, he’d be crazy if he didn’t let him.

“You don’t happen to have any Kibble on you, do you?” Sean asked smokily.

He flushed, breaking Sean’s gaze to look at a nearby shelf. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Sean. I-I’m sorry I walked out like that. I just needed some air.”

“I know, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay. Just keep remembering that.”

He nodded gratefully. And got lost in his thoughts for a while. When he came back, Sean was staring seductively at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Is that a new suit?” Sean asked softly.

He nodded.

“I think I love it.”

He didn’t respond, unable to with Sean’s eyes having already left him, and now looking suggestively around the room.

“You know what this room looks like, right?”

His heart slipped into a different beat. When he only stood there taking slightly deeper breaths, Sean looked heatedly at him. 

He shook his head.

“It looks like a locker room.”

Warmth spilled into his groin, like he had already come.

Sean saw, even from across the room, even in his black suit, his swiftly enhanced condition. 

Sean gave him an intense look. “I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun in here.” Then his eyes dropped even lower. 

“We’ll try not to ruin the suit.”

~*~

The next morning when he walked into his office, Craig was standing in the waiting room with his head down, flicking a large white card against the tip of his nose, and resolutely not looking at him.

He instinctually halted, at first fearing that he somehow had something very embarrassing on his lip, as at this morning’s breakfast, right before leaving his condo, he had concluded another albeit less creative side of his locker room fantasy. The one comprising of standing jock, kneeling him.

He stopped, almost touching a finger to his mouth, before he saw one side of the card.

It was emblazoned with his family’s distinct W logo. And now he froze.

Unable to breathe, he stared from Craig’s inscrutable expression to the card. He knew exactly what it was. 

Without preamble, Craig said, “Your mother has sent out your wedding invitations.”

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

He entered his office with Craig at his heels, placed his briefcase on the nearest surface and extracted his phone with shaking hands. His only thought was to call Elliot and Petey to confirm what his eyes were already telling him was fact. Just then Petey’s text popped onto his screen: 

_Um, h - u shld prbly give e a call if u alrdy havnt._

His heart kicked, and before he could tap to call Petey, Elliot’s incoming call filled up the screen. He withdrew his hand. They were both attempting to reach him. He needed no further confirmations. He stared wildly at Craig.

Craig was still holding the card, now gently tapping its edge against his leg.

It was real. He was staring right at it. The invitation to his wedding.

“How did you get it?” he asked, feeling as though there was gravel in his throat.

“Via messenger, just now,” Craig said gently.

He went straight for the door.

~*~

His mother’s house sat a comfortable several minutes down the road from his father’s. Growing up, it had seemed very convenient.

But now, as an adult, and knowing a divorced coupled with barely concealed contempt for each other’s lifestyles shouldn’t be spending so much time around each other, he realized it was nothing short of hubris. Neither of them would back down. And together they were making all their lives miserable.

He rolled his car through the iron gates and into the circular driveway.

His mother’s house was almost identical to his father’s, except smaller, because, she would say disparagingly, she didn’t need “all that space.”

It didn’t matter how far they went, they were all stuck in one place. One oppressive past.

And then he took a breath and when he looked again he saw Anne and Wil’s house. 

A modern four bedroom in a neighborhood subdivision. Simple. Friendly, Overflowing with love.

And as he kept looking he saw Anne making her way down the driveway, waving her hands as she always did when she felt there was “just so much stuff going on,”—not entirely unlike Deena—and smoothing her flyaway hair, flushed with excitement because he was coming to discuss the wedding.

An ache shot through his heart, and he had to bend his head and fight off the unhappiness that threatened to sink his resolve. When he looked up once more he saw his mother coming around the side of the house in coveralls, her silver hair held back by a hat, a trowel in hand. She was being trailed by two gardeners to whom she was giving instructions.

He took a breath, steeled himself and got out of his car.

~*~

The morning had gone well, he’d say. Because of the efficiency he was displaying in forming his preliminary schedule, he had managed to convince Kara to consider giving him all of March off. It was highly unlikely, but it would be a sweet victory if it ended up giving him even an additional two weeks off in March, and him having escaped all of February.

Paula had subsequently called and assured him that he was the laziest offseason client she had ever had.

“Most of your colleagues across the league are selling their mothers for endorsements right now.”

“It’s hard,” he acknowledged commiseratingly. “I know, I’ve been there.”

“And while you’re off having yourself a vacation, I’m here slogging through your usual offseason deluge. I don’t know why I even bother,” she added in her usual, “who’s your mommy” undertone.

He’d sassily told her he’d in fact taken on one extra endorsement, just for her.

“Who loves you, Paula?” he coaxed.

“Not your lazy ass, Sean,” she informed him in neat tones. “Well, enjoy your sixty seconds of freedom, ‘cause July’s gonna come up real fast.”

Disconnecting, as he entered the natural foods store he had discovered in Holden’s neighborhood, he had stared a little longer at his phone, not liking the portentous feeling her words had stirred in him.

Still, he was feeling great when he was done shopping, loading up the groceries in the trunk of his Navigator.

After looking at those wedding venue photos last night it was slowly forming from abstraction that he was getting married. Slowly but surely, they were building up speed to accomplish it. Even the lead accountant at his business management, which he had visited that morning, had had a little fun going over what they had estimated would be his share of the wedding costs, “Plus honeymoon expenses, _minus_ a month’s supply of prophylactics…”

He’d thought that was pretty funny, especially because they had mechanically considered condoms, but neglected to minus the whopping cost of imported silicone-based lubricant.

“Hey, Sean, congratulations on your wedding announcement.”

Looking over his shoulder, he found two individuals, a man and a woman, in black polos. The woman was holding a mic and the man a video camera, standing several few feet from him. Reporters from TMZ. 

The woman had a smile on her face.

“End of June, huh? That’s great. Everybody’ll be talking about it come Fourth of July. So, did you get any say in picking location, number of guests, things like that,” she asked in a friendly manner. “Or was that something Holden’s family reserved for themselves?”

Several things were going through his mind as she spoke, even as he turned back to properly lodge the grocery bags. First, he was a bit surprised that the bodyguards Holden had hired for him, parked across the street and currently observing him, hadn’t stopped the reporters from reaching him. Then he remembered Holden explaining that in order to allow him to carry on freely with his life, not to mention, not get into the press needlessly, they were only there to protect him from being attacked by deranged homophobes.

Second, _what the fuck had she just said about his wedding?_

He shut the trunk and walked around to the driver side, while the two reporters, still a manageable distance away, moved around the back of the Navigator so they could watch him.

“What’d you say, Sean?” she called.

He climbed in and shut the door.

He was burning to call Holden. But he knew better than that, knowing it should never be done after they had set up a target with baiting questions. Now all they had to wait for was for him to immediately place an agitated looking phone call—preferably with him yelling into the phone—and they would have their story.

Instead he put the car in reverse. Through his side view, he saw the reporter grin and step out of the way. She tossed him a small salute as he set the car in motion. A small crowd had gathered and were staring and pouting.

Trying not to look even a tiny bit concerned, he backed the car out of the parking lot and headed toward Wilshire Boulevard.

~*~

The moment he got into Holden’s elevator—he hadn’t even wanted to do it in the resident parking garage in case the TMZ cameras were from NASA or something—he set the grocery bags on the ledge inside the car and reached into his jeans for his phone.

It buzzed for a full minute on the other end. Holden wasn’t answering.

~*~

“You seem to think, dear,” his mother was angrily telling him, “that reservations for a wedding of the sort we’re contemplating grow on trees.”

He knew he was in total denial, not processing the enormity of what she had done, because he couldn’t speak.

He had thought that he would yell at her, threaten all kinds of things to make her back down. But he was staring at her and all he kept seeing was Anne cuddling him and ruffling his hair, asking him to take hot chocolates out to little children who didn’t have any care in the world.

And he had seen Anne be stern with her son. She didn’t spoil him, but she wasn’t childishly self-absorbed. She didn’t want to punish her son because things had not gone her way. And when someone external to their family had threatened her daughter’s well being, she had stood up for Allison and kicked him out.

How was it that with all their money, all their importance, they could not get that simple dynamic right?

They had entered her house by now, though he had refused to and was standing at the threshold. She had moved inside to the expansive foyer where a large round decorative table sat with an enormous flower arrangement on it. She was standing next to it with her fingers on the table as if for support, and her hand pressed to her forehead while she tried to calmly speak to him. She was reflecting, physically, what he felt inside.

“Mother,” he said quietly. “What about all the people Sean and I need to invite? What about Sean’s side of the family?”

“You two can start sending out invitations whenever you wish,” she replied. “I just thought that since neither of you seems serious about making arrangements and you seem only interested in playing silly phone games, I’d be the adult and do what needed to be done.”

He only listened with a slow pounding heart.

“While you’ve been jet setting and having your fun, Holden, your father and I have been making sure that everything gets done. We’ve had to hold _five venues,_ complete with deposits, since June of last year.” 

She took a sharp, deep breath, looking first at the table, on which he now noticed that there was a leather bound coffee table book, before directing her eyes right at him. “Was it too much to ask that you sit for a minute and make this a priority?”

She tilted her head, waiting for a response.

He felt his chest tighten, but he held her gaze.

Sean had told him that he looked nothing like her. Except that he had her smile. 

But she hardly ever smiled.

“I never asked you to do a single thing,” he said in a rough voice. “You don’t seem to be getting it. I’m not doing this with you.”

“And you don’t seem to understand, dear,” she firmly told him, “that after one year of engagement, and it will be one year this May, with you two not wanting and not having had an engagement party, if Sean were to return to the NFL this August _without_ a wedding ceremony, it will be a disaster.”

He slowly shook his head in confusion. “What will, mom? What will be a disaster?”

“Your engagement. The whole thing. The whole coming out because he- he loves you, the— the fighting the Christian Right thing—” she waved her hand. “All of it. When something like this happens, you need to move fast, while the iron is still hot. And right now, it is hot. Especially after your carrying on in his hometown in Iowa. It was all over the Internet. Waiting a moment longer will make you two look foolish.”

He gritted his teeth, truly trying his best to meet her even a quarter of the way. But it was absurdity. “Mom, this is not the turn of the century, or the Fifties. We don’t have to do anything. We can get married when, where, and however we want. No one is keeping track of things like this.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, laughing a little. Then, reaching for the book on the table, she brought it forward to the table’s edge and placed her fingers on it.

“Here you are, Holden. It’s Elite Soirée, I know they’re the ones you’ve been using so please don’t try to deny it. It’s all in here. Everything you need. And you’re welcome.”

He glanced involuntarily at the book. He had never seen a fully produced one, but he had seen samples. It was the book Soirée produced when the client and the wedding planner had settled on all the details of the wedding.

When he next spoke, he felt almost glad at being able to say the words, because they countermanded the existence of that book more than anything else ever could.

“Sean and I,” he said slowly. “Have not made a single decision about our wedding plans. Not a lot of men in our world get to do it, so we’re gonna do it exactly as we want. We haven’t picked a date, haven’t settled on a location, we haven’t even picked a wedding planner. Soirée was just one of them. So,” he said, “I have no idea what you’re going to tell your guests to my wedding ceremony, but whatever it is, you’d better tell them fast.”

“You can’t do it all by yourself, Holden,” she said over his words, sternly. “No one can. We’re only looking out for your interests. What kind of parents would we be if we weren’t?”

The hypocrisy of the words made him feel sick. He turned to leave.

“ _Do not_ leave this house without this book, Holden.”

He froze at the door, standing there holding on to the doorjamb as though her words had paralyzed him. Despite himself he was unable to move.

“Your stubbornness is going to be the _death_ of me,” she said tremulously. “You _stubborn_ boy. What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t—”

But she had stopped, and seemed unable to continue.

At the entrance, his eyes downcast to the red flagstones beneath his feet, he willed himself to get out of there.

Despite anything he wanted to believe, whatever was going on with her wasn’t born of an unselfish love. He knew that she had never cared to practice such a thing.

But before he could make his body respect his wishes she had rang a bell.

Moments later a uniformed servant appeared at his side, meekly holding the book towards him. Without looking at either of them he took the book and left the house, heading straight for his car.

~*~

Holden finally answered, after he had shoved the grocery bags into the fridge without unpacking them, had exited the condo, and was on his way down to the garage.

“Hello?” Holden said emotionlessly.

“Holden, where are you?”

“In my car,” Holden said quietly.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“No, I’m not. I thought I’d be angry, but I just feel…nauseous. This isn’t really happening, is it?”

“Where in your car are you?”

Holden was silent for a while.

“Sweetheart,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear.

“In the parking garage at my office.”

“Okay,” he said, checking the floor indicator. “Just go up to your office and I’ll see you in a bit, sweetheart. I’ll meet you there.”

~*~

Holden was standing in the middle of his office when he got there.

Locking the door behind him, he slowly went over, put his arms around him, and kissed his cheek.

Holden didn’t repsond.

Behind Holden, on his desk, he sighted a slim black polished leather case, about the size of a small tablet, sitting between two rolls of blueprints. A red ribbon spilled from its closed lids like a bookmark.

For the moment he made no reference to it.

Gently circling his hand on Holden’s back, he told him it was going to be okay.

“You keep _saying_ that,” Holden whispered accusatorially. 

“I keep saying it,” he said gently, “because it’s true.”

If that case really did contain a wedding invitation, then it really was insanity. Alastair and Cecelia were like a couple of spoiled kids getting up to no good every time your head was turned.

What the hell did they think they were accomplishing with a move like this? Simply out maneuvering their son?

“Is that it?” he finally asked, indicating the desk with his head.

Holden gave a slight nod without looking. 

Releasing Holden, he slowly went over to the desk. Up close, he could see that there was a black scripted W embossed on the case. He picked it up. And completely out of his control, his heart thudded against his ribcage.

The case was soft, incredible to the touch. The leather, which was new, still felt broken in, somehow exciting to the senses. And the ribbon which extended from its inside slid over his hand like a welcome and a caress.

He didn’t make any further moves, feeling slightly foolish at his reaction. Then he went ahead and opened the case. Inside was a snow-white page of high grade paper. On it, the front, he assumed, in high contrast with the white, was the black scripted W. 

He turned it over. On the other side…

It was breathtaking. The words were printed in elegant black small-caps, but their names, printed in the same stunning black script that captured the W, wound across the page like scattered black roses, trailed through by a thin gold thread that coiled until it discreetly puddled in what looked like a small golden heart beneath Holden’s name.

Both his parents’ names were on it, and as well as Cecelia’s and Alastair.

A funny feeling started inside him as he stared at it, suddenly feeling as if he was the luckiest little boy in the world for having found the finest toy in the world.

Seeing his and Holden’s names one on top of the other like that, it was like words that held all the magic. He wanted to do this today, now. Or else he was going to have to frame this and look at it every morning by his bedside. Especially when he was on the road. On those nights when he called and words couldn’t expressed how much their hearts ached to be together, and being in each other’s presence felt like the only thing that would cure all the pain and longing.

Oh God, it was so beautiful…

“ _Sean._ ”

He felt more than heard the push in Holden’s voice. Gasping quietly, he struggled to regain his breath. “Yeah,” he said.

“I asked, what are we going to do?”

Beneath their names, written out one beneath the other, entirely in words so that you were asked to read every one, was the date of their wedding. Saturday June Twenty-Fifth, Two Thousand Eleven. Five O’Clock In The Evening. He really couldn’t breathe. Mentally he could see how the evening sun would paint everything. How it would tint the flowers, and cast a glow on Holden’s lashes when he gave him his knowing, “you’re mine now” smile.

“What decision have you reached?” he asked, with extreme difficulty. 

But he spoke in a clear voice, and carefully lifted impassive eyes to Holden. Holden was staring at the card in his hands, clearly seeing something else entirely. A threat.

“I’m not going to do it.” Then Holden’s eyes flew to his. 

Holden’s eyes were pleading, full of a need for support. “You don’t mind, do you? Sh-she didn’t put one person from your family on her invitation list. She says we can send them invites whenever we want, so I figured— I don’t think it’ll be that much of a loss if we cancel it.”

Hoping desperately he wasn’t giving anything away, he glanced down what he hoped was casually at the card. Double spaced beneath the date, in the space reserved for venue, it said instead _Undisclosed, Please Have A Valid Passport Ready._

Dinner and dancing were to follow. It was to be formal attire.

“Where did she set the location?” he was unable to resist asking.

He hoped the strain in his voice could be attributed to the situation.

After a moment he realized that Holden hadn’t responded. He looked up to find Holden staring somewhere around his hands as if waiting for the question to simply unask itself.

Then Holden slowly moved away from him toward a side table by an armchair. He picked up a tawny leather-bound coffee table book, on which he instantly he recognized the Elite Soirée logo.

He went over and sat on the arm of the chair, placing the invitation behind him, out of Holden’s sight, and took the book from Holden. 

Flipping through the pages, it appeared to be a book that had been put together specifically for the occasion. _As Requested by Cecelia Hadley-Wilson,_ it said gracefully on a front tissue-like page.

And what it showcased was a 123 room Spanish palace; its amenities, rooms and grounds, including its world famous maze, five acres of gardens, and Andalusian horse stables. 

Photographed with their wedding scheme in mind, the planner had chosen a bold and elegant black and white theme, with multicolored roses and gold trimmed champagne crystals for highlights. 

And it was all shot in the golden evening light.

He knew so well he was being manipulated by it all but… holy shit.

And a palace in Spain. His mother was going to faint.

 _He_ was going to faint.

He closed the book and set it aside, behind him with the invitation, and took hold of both Holden’s hands.

“I’ll do whatever you do, Holden,” he assured him firmly.

“You mean that?”

He arched an eyebrow, and Holden quickly shook his head. 

“No, I believe you,” Holden whispered.

Sliding his hands comfortingly up Holden’s arms, he said, “The news is apparently already out, or at least to the paparazzi—”

“ _What?_ ”

“Yeah…” he said, slowly. “So you may be getting outside calls soon. But I want you to know that my side will be okay. They’ll roll with whatever, so don’t let that be a factor in any decision you make.”

Holden nodded. But rather than easing, the tension etched itself into his brow. “Thank you, Sean,” he said in a hoarse voice.

He stood up, pulled him into his arms, and pressed a long, delicate kiss to Holden’s temple. “Of course, sweetheart.”

~*~

He left Holden in a better frame of mind, he hoped, than he had found him. Holden assured him that he would be fine, that he wasn’t going to take any calls until he had talked to some people about how to proceed. He seemed to think that there was a way to gain control of the situation back from his mother.

Inside his Navigator, he sat and thought about it all.

So here it finally was, the moment he had been dreading since their return from Johnston.

He had asked Holden whether Cecelia could pull of the kind of wedding she seemed to want between now and end of June, and Holden had reluctantly told him that she could. Apparently she had revealed to him that she had been putting together the wedding for nearly eight months.

Well, love it or hate it, he considered that impressive.

Her near perfect taste aside, he couldn’t help but have a wholesale respect for what she had accomplished. While for Holden and him talk about their wedding had simply been an opportunity to flirt, for Holden’s parents it had been a serious enough prospect for them to have given it top priority in their already crowded social lives.

So there lay the truth of it. Holden wasn’t in any way tied to a particular type of wedding, except that it go off without a hitch. And yet these beautiful setup that Cecelia had pulled off was being rejected out of pure distrust. It didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem that any of them were focused on the things that mattered.

Sighing heavily, he pushed the Bluetooth on his dashboard and asked it to call Alastair.

“This isn’t about the damn wedding invitations, is it?” Alastair said without preamble, upon picking up.

“It sure isn’t.”

Alastair missed a beat. “Well, I find that hard to believe. What is it then?”

“The three of us need to talk.”

“So this _is_ about the wedding?”

“Oh, so you do know you’ve hurt his feelings? Quite badly I might add?”

“I can’t help every little thing his mother does.”

“Just gimme a date, Al. And in the meantime, you and I need to talk.”

“What for?”

“Trust me, you don’t screw this up. Your son is in a fucked up place. You called me out to lunch and we made certain agreements,” he said clearly, feeling exactly as he did when it was time to talk to the Chargers’ ownership about pay increases. “Now it’s time to move on your word.”

There was a hard silence. 

“I’ll be in touch,” Alastair said emotionlessly.

“I appreciate it.”

They disconnected, and he sat there rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

Thank God he recognized Wilson posturing when he saw it. Alastair hadn’t put a stake through his heart at their lunch when he had essentially challenged his kingdom, as Holden had so well put it. He had instead given him his promise. 

Those weren’t the acts of a man who didn’t care deep down. These Wilsons needed some tough love. 

He only had to do was find a way to cut through the mess surrounding their situation and speak in terms that Alastair would take to heart. 

Heaving a sigh, he started up the Navigator. 

But in the meantime, with Holden all right for the time being, he wasn’t going to give one more thought to his very trying in-laws. He’d go finish putting together his offseason schedule and then maybe head up to Malibu for a swim.

~*~

He didn’t go home after work. He just couldn’t. He spent the afternoon after Sean left talking to the director at Elite Soirée who assured him on his company’s professionalism that they had not shared a scrap of information from the portfolio which they had created for him with his mother. She had, they claimed, along with her chosen planner from their staff, initiated and overseen the wedding preparations for June 25th entirely with her own input. Whatever coincidences of style, theme, color schemes, itinerary arrangements, etcetera, that she had selected from their services, were entirely that.

He had, unfortunately, no reason whatsoever to doubt the anxious director.

His phone had been buzzing steadily all afternoon. Some family friends left voicemail, others sent texts. All were congratulating him and his fiancé, and some where wondering if they would stop shunning them and have an official engagement party beforehand. His parents, naturally, didn’t try to reach him.

Once he had finished his series of conversation with Elite Soirée, however, he had been in no condition to call anyone. Craig was outside somewhere haunting the hallways outside his office, showing a lot of anxiety for someone who usually didn’t seem capable of it. Elliot and Petey had simply texted that they were around if he needed to talk.

He went through his day’s work, simply because he had reshuffled and managed his workload enough since Sean's return from the season and he would be damned if he was going to let his parents have any more of it. But by closing time, he needed to talk.

All four of them met in Beverly Hills. He hadn’t given their meet-up spot any thought, and had just said he’d be there when Petey texted that they were meeting at L’Ermitage.

It was only after he pulled into the hotel’s entrance on Burton Way that the lights of the hotel brought him back down the earth. Which was when he realized that this, one of the most sought after hubs in town of several industries put together, might not be an advisable place for him to be tonight. 

It would be only slightly worse if they had gone to dinner at the Hotel Bel-Air. What the hell was Petey thinking?

Which was the very question he overheard Elliot posing to Petey as he got out of his car. The valet was handing him his ticket which he automatically took, but stared wordlessly at his friends in a need of explanation. Elliot, on the other side under the carpeted entry way of the hotel, turned to the valet.

“Just hold on a moment, will you?”

“Why?” Petey cried softly, and already from Petey’s sympathetic tone it was obvious that Petey had hatched some kind of plan. And Petey’s plans hardly ever went well. Give him a work project and watch him perform like a wizard, but personal life matters were like radiation to his brain.

“It’ll be _so_ good for him when everybody’s congratulating him and he’ll see that there’s no need to get upset or anything!”

“Petey, are you kidding?” he said softly, still standing on the other side of his car. The valet patiently waited; Craig was nowhere in sight. He pointed at the hotel. “I don’t wanna be in here,” he said incredulously. “Half my dad’s friends are about to show up for dinner an hour from now, and I’m supposed to go sit right beside them?”

“Oh,” Petey grumbled exaggeratedly, hurrying from Elliot’s side and coming around the car. He delicately took the ticket from the valet, thanking him, and firmly placed one hand on his back.

“Not half,” Petey said, then gently began propelling him toward the entrance. “A couple maybe. And you’ll sit right beside them and smile in their faces. Once word gets back to Alastair and Cece that you were seen out and about on this wonderful night, they’ll know they’re not about to get it easy.” 

They had reached the walkway. Elliot was still staring at Petey in disbelief.

“However, if no one sees him out tonight,” Elliot said crisply. “There’ll be nothing to say. And Cecelia and Alastair can go on rightly presuming that they’ve insulted their son.”

He waited with an extremely pointed look at Petey.

Petey waved one hand, resumed trying to locomote him with the other. “Nonsense. That’s poor P.R. You _wanna_ give them something to talk about. We’re fucking going in, guys.”

Elliot released a hard sigh, then lifted a hand toward the hotel’s entrance. Petey smiled triumphantly, let go of him and led the way. He and Elliot followed.

“Where’s Craig?” he asked Elliot.

“Inside, having a drink. He said to text him when we settle on what we’re going to do.”

“Why did I even ask?”

“Well, you know Craig. He understands the importance of solidarity at times like these.”

Despite himself, he almost laughed a little at the comforting predictability of friends.

~*~

Petey proved nuttier than any of them suspected. The hotel was crawling with people he would have given almost anything not to see tonight. And worse, not just direct acquaintances of his family, but a ton of Hollywood industry people and one or two faces from real estate. At the lounge, which was automatic close-quarters with everyone, and which he had told Petey from the lobby was a no-go, they stood at its entrance and stared at the thriving occupancy. He slid Petey a look.

Petey didn’t falter and turned instead to the host by the door. “We need a table rooftop, please. Geffen Foundation. Petersen, J.” The host tapped at his touch screen, scrolled quickly through a list, and told him that wouldn’t be a problem. He picked up a sleek phone receiver.

“A corner table, please,” Elliot added dryly.

“Right away, sir.”

And minutes later they were being escorted up to the roof, where as soon as they stepped out from the elevators a warm, soft breeze blew in their direction, the very, very faint sounds of wind chimes floated somewhere nearby, and the crowd of younger, romance seeking, more self-absorbed Angelenos barely looked in their direction. 

In panoramic view around them were the deep purple skies of the sunset, contrasting strikingly with the sodium lights of the city. He nodded his thanks to Petey and the two of them trailed the waiter while Elliot pulled out his phone and called Craig.

Ten minutes later they were situated, jackets off—except for Petey who didn’t wear suits for work—and deep in conversation, each with a drink in his hand.

He was having a whiskey. He didn’t drink whiskey, he didn’t know whether he even liked the taste. But he had needed anything at all to institute some calm, and Craig, presuming he would have to go slow with it, had suggested he try a Jameson. Elliot had looked alarmed, but it had turned out to be a genius suggestion. It warmed his lips and his throat and chest, but it’s unsweet flavors didn’t beg him to chug it.

“So where _is_ it taking place?”

“A palace in Spain, if you can believe it.”

Petey gasped, pleasure transporting his face.

“Wow, Cecelia thought of everything,” Craig noted. “Spain, huh.”

“Oh, like they couldn’t have thought of getting married in a place where it was legal,” Elliot returned, then turned and looked at him. “A palace sounds over the top crazy,” he said in horror.

He glanced apathetically at him. “Yeah, that’s what I’d hoped when I first saw the book Soirée put together, so I could at least have a flat no if for no one else but myself. But it’s actually a boutique hotel operated by the Intercontinental Group. So…not really something to complain about.” He sighed to himself, going through all the ways in which he had tried to tank it just from phone calls this afternoon. 

“My father’s chaffing a bit because it was originally sold by Sotheby’s way back when it was put on the market, but my mom couldn’t care less. She wants it worse than she wants me for her son, I think.”

“Cecelia will _not_ be outdone.”

“Exactly,” he said quietly. “It’s not a contest. So it’s not like I’m against it just to be difficult about it. And aside from TMZ apparently having got a whiff of it—”

“Who the hell told TMZ?” Elliot asked.

“Yeah,” Craig said, his eyes on Petey. “I wonder who.”

“Why the hell are you looking at me?”

“Because Bryan works for Hanan, and as far as we know, we don’t have any other attention-whore, starfucker friends working for anyone on the invite list.”

“ _Anybody_ could have told TMZ.”

“Not really,” Craig replied. “How many of Cecelia’s events before now have ended up on tabloid television?”

“And Bryan _is_ a celebrity whore, Petey,” Elliot said in his best, measured attorney voice. “ _And_ the man _has_ been talking nonstop about the wedding. It may be purely circumstantial evidence, but sadly, it’s evidence nonetheless.”

“Oh, go fuck yourselves.”

“Well, the news isn’t out yet,” he said hastily, quickly glaring at both Elliot and Craig, who were struggling with laughter. “So—”

“It soon will be, though,” Petey said a bit grudgingly. “You know my boss is _dying_ to throw you and Sean a _big_ ol’ party, don’t you? I mean, he’s an icon of the gay community, and here you and Sean are, getting married and him not getting to be a part of it. He’s not happy.”

Wanting to hold his head in guilt, the point really did make him feel like a heel. Geffen had often worked with them on their charities, and appearing to ignore him during this period did not sit well with him at all.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath.

“It’s all right, pumpkin,” Petey said, reaching to rub his arm. “We’ll figure something out.”

“So what are people saying exactly?” he asked. “I mean for them to have received an invitation for a wedding four months from now without a save the date or anything?”

“Oh, everyone I’ve talked to loves it. They think it’s so exciting and exclusive getting this gorgeous invitation—they _were_ gorgeous, by the way, let’s not even try to be petty about that—with no preamble, no nothing, to a secret location somewhere in the world. Some people are surprised they were told this early. They expected to be informed and whizzed off in private jets a couple of days before. Some of them were saying it’s the way to do it now, instead of sending out a dawdling save the date.”

“Or, a considerate heads up,” Craig said laconically. “To, you know, save the date.”

“Overrated,” Petey said flatly. “Most people can cancel their plans for an event at the end of June when we’re only in February.”

“And what about the grooms themselves? The people planning it?” Elliot pointed out. “I mean, I’ve never planned a wedding—”

“And I’ve been in more than one wedding party,” Petey smoothly said, in his professional, “here’s how we organize things in which we don’t do panic,” voice. “Look. With Soirée and Cecelia taking care of details, four months is plenty of time for you and Sean to handle your side of things.”

Petey counted it off on his fingers. “You guys have got a date, a venue, a registry, which Soirée does, and a guest list— always expandable or shrinkable. Everybody already knows you’re engaged, so no announcement party needed. Unless, you know, you want to have one in the meantime for your best friends who still haven’t gotten to…” fastidiously, Petey cleared his throat, “…meet Sean. The caterers, florists, musicians and photographers, all taken care of. All _you_ guys have to do is buy your rings, pick your tuxes, and apply for a marriage license. And of course, write wedding vows if you so wish.” Petey paused, looked at him and shook his head in exasperation. “That is _not_ bad for a wedding of this magnitude.”

All of them were silent. Eliot’s mouth was turned down at the corners in a capitulating frown. Craig was tracing the top of his whiskey tumbler. It apparently was all left to him to defend his position.

“Well,” he couldn’t help saying sardonically. “Don’t forget, we have to inform our best men—”

“Elliot’s right here,” Petey said, pointing to Elliot. Elliot went from frowning to now squinting an eye. And reluctantly shrugging his agreement.

This was not good if Elliot, who could always find the missing argument, had nothing with which to counter.

“Well, Sean’s got a best man too…” he said, then listened to his voice fade. _Who’s ready to drive his Wrangler halfway across the world given a moment’s notice…_ He swallowed an aggravated breath.

“In a couple months time,” Petey continued, soothingly, determined to make him see the bright brilliance of it all, “all you two will have to worry about is not screwing up your steps at the rehearsal dinner.”

“Which I have no doubt she’s already planned as well,” he finished for Petey.

“Well, there you go,” Petey declared.

There was a return of their silence. The breeze wafted through softly.

“Don’t you think they would’ve enjoyed doing those things for themselves?” Craig asked Petey.

“They can still do it. She’s not saying she’s excluding you guys, is she? She gave you the wedding planner’s book. I mean, how telling is it that she and Holden picked the same wedding planner?”

Elliot rejoined the fight with a roll of his eyes. “It tells that she knows what the number one looks like.”

Petey, taking a slow inhale of breath, finally had it. He folded his arms, slightly sucked in his cheeks, and stared his liquid black eyes at them. He said something softly in Spanish.

Glancing over, he could tell it affected Craig most profoundly. Craig was blinking softly at Petey as if he would dearly love to give him more reasons to revert to his native Spanish. He stole another glance at Elliot and they both had to cover their amusement by sipping their drinks.

“Why’re you so gung-ho about this, anyway?” Elliot asked Petey. “We’re here to support Holden.”

“Are you kidding?” Petey said frenetically. “I’m terrified of Cecelia. I’ll go to Holden’s wedding without him if she tells me to.”

“With your gay boyfriend?” Craig asked with a light dusting of disgust.

Petey whipped on him. Elliot raised a hand that demanded silence.

He looked from one squabbling friend to the other. “When was the last time you two fucked?”

That sent both men treating into their corners.

Craig have never been able to handle what was his— he supposed kink was the word, for Petey’s brand of thousand-dollar-an-ounce prima donna. And Petey had never been able to stand was what he termed Craig’s borderline arrogance.

Their fights were seasonal, as during holidays when most people were out of town they tended to hook up. But this time around, what with him having been on a three month bender and needing babysitters, and not to mention, Bryan, apparently not enough hooking up had taken place to ward off the bickering.

Elliot ignored them and looked directly at him. “Have you guys decided where you’re gong to go for the honeymoon, H?” he asked kindly.

He slowly shook his head. “We haven’t even come close to discussing any of that. All I know is, after this mess my parents are putting him through, I’m all for giving him a solo pick of the destination.”

“Hmm. By the way, Holden,” Elliot said in sedate tones, which only meant he was about to ask him something that needed him to remain calm.

“To bring up a lingering point, just when are you going to introduce us to Sean?”

He looked from one friend to the other and saw that they all had the same carefully constructed, unassuming but expectant expressions on their faces. Telling him that they had taken a vote on this.

He narrowed his eyes at them. “Why is this important right now?”

Craig laughed. Elliot rolled his eyes and Petey simple dismissed him with a hand. But they all let it go for now.

Relieved of the pressure about the wedding, they talked about other things for some time; work, which Hollywood award shows Petey’s office would be handling.

But soon they were back on it, talking about the ways in which the media—perhaps to make him think outside the immediacy of the issue—might spin the ceremony. But his mind had been made up since that morning when he had seen the invitation in Craig’s hand.

So after they split the check, ready to leave, they asked him once more and he reiterated that yeah, he was still planning to cancel it.

“But how’re you going to do that, really?” Petey said, giving it one last try.

“By just canceling it.”

They continued looking crestfallen, and he sighed quietly. “Guys, Sean and I will just do something later. Something small I guess. I don’t have much appetite for a big ceremony now anyway.”

And that was how they left the evening. Maybe slightly more sober than they would have liked, but their dejected faces only made him more confident in his contention that he was doing the right thing. It would always be easier to simply lie down and let someone walk all over you.

Later, as he waited for his car in front of the hotel, he pulled out his phone and sent both his parents a text. _I’m canceling the wedding._

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

A couple nights after the invitations, Holden came home early at his request and found him in the home office on the upper floor, printing out the preliminary schedule he and Kara had finally agreed upon.

The schedule looked nuts, so wedding preps or no, he was screwed this summer. He’d have thought that after a year of being out of the closet the media would cool it a bit. But half this stuff was “one year later” junkets. He didn’t mind the interviews with the rights advocacy groups, but he was going to have to find a way to cut most of the navel-gazing interviews out.

“Is that your schedule?”

Looking towards the library entrance, he saw Holden standing in the doorway.

“Yeah,” he said, tapping the paper to keep it in line as it printed out.

After a few moments and with no further response from Holden, he looked over to find Holden staring at him with unmoving eyes, as if he didn’t want to blink and miss something on his face or in his demeanor.

“How was your day?” Holden asked quietly. “What’d you get up to?”

He shrugged. “I swam, signed a bunch of legal paperwork. Did this,” he added, pointing to the printer churning out paper. “Just taking it easy till the end of the month. And actually, I ran into a couple guys from the Raiders who’re in town for, uh, I think someone’s birthday party.”

“A birthday party? Are you going? I-I’ll go with you, if you want. I’ve never been to one of your NFL parties.”

“Nah, those things are too rowdy.”

“Rowdy can be fun sometimes.” 

Holden had said it so quietly that he had to look at him to make sure he had heard right. His guy and rowdy? Not really two things he ever associated.

But Holden didn’t seem to be too interested in his own words. He looked intently at him. “Have you gotten any calls about the— invitations?”

“Nope. Guess she really didn’t invite anyone outside of your family’s circle, just like she said.”

A realization which had made him suspect very seriously that Cecelia might have sent out the invites not necessarily to take the wedding ceremony away from her son but to light a fire under his ass.

But Holden, meanwhile, looked drawn and tired.

Holden had been wandering around the penthouse in the evenings for two days, his thoughts completely his own. Even after lovemaking he didn’t spill what was on his mind. Holden had, however, told him he had texted his parents to let them know that he wasn’t going through with the wedding. 

And that his folks hadn’t replied. Which was probably the cause of Holden’s continued tension.

He himself had finally received a communiqué from Alastair responding to his request for a meeting before the three of them met. Alastair had told him to meet him in his office in Bel Air.

Asking Holden to come home early tonight was part of his plan to inform him of their meeting with his dad. He was going to take him out to dinner and do it in a semi-public place, which presumably would cut down on any chances of Holden sparking too much about it. It was a little like cheating, but he really didn’t want Holden to focus too much on it.

“How ‘bout you?” he asked Holden, who was just silent by the door. “You get a lot of calls about it?”

“A ton. There are old family friends calling me who I don’t even remember which country they live in now. But—it doesn’t look like the media knows yet. Whoever told TMZ must not have given them any proof, because they haven’t written it up yet.”

“How can so many people know and still keep it a secret?”

Holden quirked his mouth. “They talk about it, it’s just not going to get to the media unless it’s supposed to. A lot of things go down like that in their world.”

Their world, huh.

The printer made a sound, stopped printing, a big button on it beginning to flash red. Stopping in dread, he was about to call Kara and tell her this just wasn’t meant to be when Holden spoke quietly.

“It’s out of paper.”

He nodded and began searching the cabinet below.

“So— y-you haven’t spoken with my dad recently, have you?” Holden asked.

Slowly, but very cautiously, he shook his head. It was kind of true. _Recently_ didn’t include right after the invites went out, he hoped.

Holden was silent for a moment, then he stammered, “But y-you’re still okay with me—” He turned and leveled his gaze on him, and Holden left off finishing the sentence.

Holden lowered his eyes to the floor. He looked both sad and defiant. 

“I hate what an embarrassment we are as a family,” he said. “Especially when I think of—” he stopped.

Then Holden looked directly at him. “Am I a bad person, Sean? For calling it off? Am I just being a selfish son?”

His heart squeezed hard, knowing this was probably what Holden had been struggling with for days.

But self-doubt meant room for consideration.

Firmly up his resolve, he decided to test the waters. “Do you care if they see you as a bad son?”

Subtlety, Holden reacted as though he had been punched in the stomach. 

“They’ll see whatever they want to see,” he said in a rough voice. “And I’m not going to waste my time trying to prove otherwise.”

But Holden continued to look intensely at him, his blue eyes burdened and pleading. 

“But do you think I am? You don’t have to think about it, Sean,” he said quickly. “Just say it.”

“Okay,” he said, straightening from the cabinet with his found paper. He opened the printer, loaded it, and let the printer resume.

Then he beckoned for Holden to come over.

Holden left the doorway and came to stand by him at the printer, looking down at it as if he might have left his answer there.

Careful not to touch Holden, because he didn’t want him to be distracted from what he had to say, he looked instead at his face staring at the printer. 

“I think I find you more beautiful every day,” he told him, and Holden looked up at him, his expression startled. “You know why?”

Holden dutifully shook his head.

“Because your calls have been difficult but you’re never afraid to make them. And you know why that is?” Again a shake of his head. “Because you care more about doing the right thing than you do about perception. And if you want change in your family, Holden, you’re gonna have to continue not being afraid.”

Holden took a trembling breath and lowered his head. He didn’t look entirely confident, his family the only thing he had ever seen so far that could make Holden like this. But he looked like he was listening.

And looked even more like he needed a pro-status, championship hug. For starters.

But still he kept his hands to himself.

“You know it’s not gonna be easy, right?” he said gently.

Holden nodded.

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“It won’t be easy,” Holden said hoarsely.

He nodded slowly, about to touch him, but again he stopped himself.

Holden looked deep in thought and he was going to let him finish.

Soon however, Holden became aware that they weren’t touching and seemed to consider it his doing. He turned to him and hesitantly touched his forearm.

His eyes had gone where his hand was. He slowly trailed his fingers over his skin, lightly touching the hairs, and he stood there breathing down at him.

He wished to heaven and back that Holden could do two things at once, that he would still want to do all the very intimate and interesting things that lived in his fantasies—a connection from the fall that had taken them so much farther than he would have ever believed—while dealing with his parents’ encroachment on their lives. It was frustrating that now coming up to them entering marriage, this part of their lives was being kept in a huddled, sensitive state.

But he knew from firsthand knowledge how intimacy could suffer in the wake of self-doubt.

But his heart went out to his sweetheart especially because it was a part of himself that Holden didn’t seem to freely give. Even the other night in the jacuzzi, they had not gone where he wished they would. 

He loved so much when Holden gave from it, but for Holden it was even sadder because he had never seen Holden happier, more alive, and more confident in who he was than when Holden had found that place in the fall.

There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to restart what thoughtlessness had stalled.

Holden had started touching his stomach.

“I’m sorry to put you through this,” Holden told him softly.

“We’re in it together.”

Holden nodded, now sliding his hand around his ribcage, closing in on it. His thumb smoothed over the material of his T-shirt, over his pecs and nipple, where his heart was beating hard from the attention.

Holden then moved over to his arm, trailing his fingers up his bicep, slipping them under the clinging sleeve of his T-shirt. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his bicep, and he trembled and wanted to beg him to keep doing that until he understood why it made him want to melt.

Holden straightened, licked his lips, and soberly said, “I have to go to Copenhagen in the morning.”

His thoughts spaced. For long moments, the words seemed very strange to him.

“Oh, right, of course…”

It had been so long since he was around when Holden had to travel for work, having become completely spoiled by having him at his beck and call since the season ended, that he had almost completely forgotten that Holden was usually gone every other week.

Perhaps seeing the thrown look on his face, Holden quickly added, “I considered sending someone else—”

“Heck no. Don’t put work off anymore, and definitely not for me. It’s good that things are settling back to the way they used to be.” He pointed at the now finished printout. “Once I get going on this, and we go back to seeing each other only when you’re not on a flight, it’ll be just like when we first met. Only better,” he quickly added, seeing the twitch on Holden’s face.

He smiled down at him. “My poor heart is gonna miss you,” he said softly.

“Your heart’ll be fine,” Holden mumbled in a chastising tone, dropping his hand. “It’s your dick I’m worried about. I don’t want to be getting any calls about how I’m a bad partner because I haven’t serviced it in three days.”

He laughed softly. He tilted his head and looked at his eyes. 

“In that case, we need to get you in some practice drills later on so you can earn the time off.”

Holden gave him a more normal, indulgent looked. 

“And in the meantime, your special, romantic dinner?”

“Yup.”

“Where’re you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise. You’ll love it.”

“I highly doubt that. Unless they’re making aromatherapy candles edible these days.”

He chuckled, retrieving his absurd stack of schedule printout from the tray.

“You have some nerve, Wilson,” he told him, eyeing him from smiling face to big, goofy foot. “But go do that thing you do with your hair, and I’ll see you downstairs in a few.”

~*~

And at dinner, he saw what he needed to see.

“Eat something,” he cajoled Holden.

“I’m not really hungry.”

He looked over to their right, at the flickering mountain of wax that held a large, defiant flame.

“Well, that candle doesn’t look _too_ tasty…”

Holden chortled quietly. “That’s cause it isn’t _lilacs,_ ” Holden said, drawing out the word in a way he presumed was meant to be his accent.

He told him he had to give up a kiss for that transgression. Holden smiled, leaned in, and gave him a warm, wet one.

On Kara’s recommendation, he had driven them up to Mulholland, for a little privacy and romance.

It was a restaurant for rich older people, lots of couples and just two others besides himself and Holden below the age of sixty-five. He liked the place, as Kara had said he would, because it neither oversold its atmosphere nor condescended to the older couples who were there to hold hands and stare into each other’s eyes over candlelight. 

Kara knew him better than he had ever suspected. Looking around him, his heart was going crazy with joy. This was what he wanted for Holden and him. When all the hype and constant drama was off them, when years from now it was just the two of them and no media, personal or family sagas, he wanted them to sit here teasing each other and tasting each other’s green tea ice creams, and remembering dimly a time when so many other things had seemed so much more important.

What he saw, relaxed against the inside of the booth, and Holden calmly beside him—his hair was doing its thing for him—inquiring with his fork into his ice cream, was a man who had come to a point he was perfectly happy with in life.

Holden was completely serious about canceling the wedding. 

Holden had always been wildly independent, but whether because of the struggles they had been through together, or whether from spending time in Johnston, Holden was now also surer than ever of what he wanted.

He had crossed a threshold that he didn’t think his parents could see.

Definitely, he was hurting for his mom and dad, that part was clear to see. But he had also now reached a place where he was more than willing to have them just be a marginal part of his life. 

Finding himself had brought them all on a collision course, and he knew a hundred percent that Holden was struggling only because he was facing the fact that in order to have the life he wanted with him, he was willing to let his parents go.

Holden, raising his eyes from the ice cream, gave him one last confirming look. “You’re okay with it, right, Sean?”

“Am I _okay_ with it?” he repeated as if he couldn’t have heard right.

Holden smiled. “You are.”

“It’s me and you, babe.”

“Always,” Holden replied, smiling into the hand propped against his jaw.

“Come on and eat a little,” he said, indicating the still full plate of food before Holden. “Keep up your strength, Wilson. You’re gonna need it later.”

Holden flashed him a quick, burning look that singed his hair follicles. And made him want to laugh, he was so easily devastated by this guy.

And at the end of the night, after they had exchanged one too many obvious looks and had to hurry home to slowly undress each other, he didn’t tell Holden about the meeting with Alastair.

He couldn’t. Not tonight after all. He’d wait until after he returned from Copenhagen.

Tough love for the Wilsons was having a funny way of making him feel roughed up as well.

~*~

In the morning after Holden left for Copenhagen, he went up to Malibu for an extra long morning run.

Mulling what he was going to say to Alastair, he took long, easy strides in the cool morning air, keeping his breathing as easy. What he had seen during his and Holden’s dinner at Vibrato had to somehow be conveyed to Alastair. Not the non-news that Holden was upset with them, or that they had a fight coming over the wedding, but the immediacy that Holden was at his end with them.

If Alastair didn’t understand what that meant, then no amount of love, tough or otherwise, would save his family.

~*~


	7. Chapter 7

Following his texted instructions, he met Alastair at the Country Club offices he used for his privative philanthropy work. The office was entirely functionary, very unlike Wilson Realty’s offices, but had a magnificent view of the mansions rolling across the hills of the Bel Air landscape. Land that his family wielded for several generations.

He entered the office at Alastair’s bidding, closing the door behind him.

Alastair was rifling, a little intensely, through files on his desk.

“Hi, Sean. Come in. Sit down.”

He did so casually on the one sofa in the room, resting his ankle on his knee. He sat back, placing one arm on the armrest and the other along the length of the back. Thus comfortably spread out, he waited for Alastair to give him his attention.

Alastair threw him a look, frowning suspiciously at his slightly aggressive stance, though covering it up nicely. He seemed to be expecting signs of anger, like the last time he had stormed into his presence to demand an apology to his son. 

But that was a different time and he had learned a lot since then. He wasn’t about to let anything derail his message. Besides which there was no conveniently placed, smarmy ex-boyfriend on whose smart-assed mouth he could take out his anger.

Alastair, he noted, had stopped looking at him. 

Maybe his thoughts were in his eyes.

After several more tense moments, Alastair spoke.

“So what is it you want from me, Sean? You know he sent his mother and I a text saying he’s canceling the wedding. How’s that for gratitude.”

“Where’re we meeting?” he asked, ignoring the rest of Alastair’s sentence. “You said you’d give me a date.”

Alastair didn’t say anything for a moment, still looking for whatever he was looking for.

“A friend is having a cocktail on his boat in a few days. That is, if you wanted somewhere neutral.”

“We’ll be there.”

Alastair snorted, a sound as though he was being naive. “Holden’ll never come on a boat. Can’t this wait?”

“Of course not. And he will if I bring him. And when I bring him, do you agree that you need to talk to him?”

Alastair threw him a wary look, almost identical to his son’s. 

“And what would you like me to say, Sean? I’m sorry we’re trying to do right by him? I’m sorry that hurts his feelings?”

Sitting forward, he said, “Al, with all due respect, I don’t give a shit what you and Cecelia do when it comes to the wedding. You gave a good speech last Thursday about the care you have for your son, but now it’s time to walk the walk.”

Alastair stopped shuffling papers and looked at him.

The whole thing was ridiculous. Alastair and Cecelia’s continual outrageous behavior, their continued taking for granted of their son. Hell, if Alastair felt he needed to live-feed their lives as Holden feared, he’d give him one hell of a party. Maybe seeing his son doing some of the things Holden was intensely interested in would give him a hint about the ideas surrounding the parent-child separation.

The words were on the tip of his tongue to say. Instead he held Alastair’s eyes and put everything he was thinking into his. 

“Al, you’re losing your son. You understand that? You’re losing this fight, and it’s all because he’s gotten to a certain point in life and you don’t want to meet him there. Holden has come a long damn way from the insecurities he had in not believing in the same set of values you do.” He made sure Alastair was looking directly at him as he said, “He doesn’t need your approval to get on with his life. Not anymore.”

Alastair was staring at him, his eyes perfectly still behind his glasses.

“But he wants it though, badly.” He shook his head, his jaw set in a way he hoped Alastair could easily understand. “He’s your son, Alastair, and he’s earned the right right to hear you admit your mistakes and be real with him. You told me to be a man, well, now you be a dad. There comes a time in a man’s life— in a son’s life, when he needs his dad to be a _dad._ Don’t tell me you didn’t have that moment with your own father. Whether or not he fulfilled it is a different matter. But this is you with Holden. You know your son and you know what he needs from you.”

Alastair still hadn’t moved. But he was blinking rapidly.

“If you agree with what I’m saying then let’s talk about what’s going to happen a few days from now. If you don’t agree with me, then don’t bullshit me anymore. And as for Holden, you _can’t_ bullshit him anymore.”

Alastair remained standing by his desk and didn’t say anything for a very long time.

Then, tossing the file in his hand, he turned and sat on the edge of his desk, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, covering whatever was going on in them. Then he pressed his fingers to his forehead and let out a short breath.

“I’m listening,” Alastair said.

~*~

“Sean, I’m not going,” Holden repeated, for the fifth time since hearing about the meeting. He pushed his hair back from his forehead and stared incomprehensibly down at him. “I wouldn’t go on a boat to begin with, but that’s not even the issue.”

“Then what is? Tell me why you won’t just hear what he has to say. I told you it’s not about the wedding.”

“Then what is it about? He’ll _say_ it’s not about the wedding, then he’ll tell you exactly why you have no choice in _any_ matter, period.”

“But, sweetheart—”

“And you’re starting to upset me, Sean,” Holden said tightly, attempting to move off him, but he tightened his grip, preventing him from managing it.

“How am I—”

“Because I told you to leave it alone. Sean, I _trust_ you,” Holden said tremulously, but his eyes had grown more turbulent. “I _love_ you so much I sometimes can’t _stand_ it, which is why I’m not murdering you right now because I know I would die with you. Why won’t you believe me when I tell you that we should just put _distance_ between us and them. Didn’t last summer—”

“Last summer was a different time,” he interrupted gently, refusing to let Holden break his gaze. 

He had employed what he had hoped was the slight tactical advantage of waiting until after they had showered and had pumped away all of Holden’s stresses from the trip before telling him of the meeting, a meeting which Holden now seemed to see as some kind of betrayal.

“Last summer I was scared of losing you. But right now the only thing that scares me is your unhappiness.” 

His hair falling over his eyes, Holden blinked forlornly down at him. “I’m not unhappy, Sean,” he whispered. “Are you unhappy? Please, let’s just forget them. I thought you said it would be you and me.”

_Tough love, tough love._

“It is you and me. But I’m unhappy with your folks. So come with me tomorrow night.”

“Why?” Holden repeated, again trying to move away. He didn’t seem entirely conscious of the reason he couldn’t get away and seemed to be attempting it periodically out of compulsion. He let out a frustrated breath. “What does he want to say to me?” he asked wearily.

“Something important, as a father.”

“He wants to apologize for being such a jerk?” Holden asked vehemently.

“After which,” he stated further, calmingly. “Once you’ve accepted his apology, I want you to do something for me.” 

He paused, making sure he had Holden’s attention. 

“I want you to stop worrying from now on about anything your parents might do in the future and I want you to start doing something I asked you to back when we first had sex. Do you remember?”

Holden first stared down at him, then spent a moment wracking his clearly addled mind.

“You want me to start paying attention to you instead,” Holden said miserably.

“Yes,” he said on an emphatic nod, smoothing his hands over Holden’s lovely ass. “That’s exactly it. I’ll handle your parents and you handle me. You’re much better at handling me anyway, right? You don’t get emotional over me, you don’t give a fuck what I have to say, just carry on doing whatever its is you do for a living— uh, house shopping, I think it is, until I run outta steam—”

Holden, miraculously, briefly snorted laughter. He then he caught himself and gave him an annoyed look, trying to still look upset at everything.

“You’re annoyed I made you laugh?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yes, you big bully.”

“Wait, did I just hear a yes? About tomorrow?”

Holden twisted his lips, eyed him further, and gave him a doleful nod.

_Thank fuck._

“But why is it on a boat?” Holden murmured. “Is he trying to make a point?”

He said nothing, just sank them both a little more into the pillows. 

Holden’s brow remained pinched. He then lowered his hand to the crown of his head, smearing his fingers through his hair in what sometimes passed for an especially goofy caress, before he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.

But Holden’s eyes remained uneasy.

~*~

The party, it turned out, was on a yacht off the coast at Del Mar near San Diego. Redmond, whom he didn’t know except from their ride from LAX, had brought them down on the hour-long drive. 

The chauffeur had been flushed, and if you asked him, overflowing with pleasure as he had welcomed them into his car.

He didn’t know whether Holden noticed it, but he thought the man had wanted badly to scrub Holden’s hair and gruffly tell him he was a good kid. The way uncles did when they were proud of their nephews.

And completely unlike the ride from the airport, Holden had been very much present and active during the ride.

Several times Holden had turned to him, about to say something—or more likely several things—but had glanced at him and instead changed his mind.

He was sure Holden could tell from the look on his face that he didn’t have to give him any further warnings. Alastair had been the sole thing on his mind during the ride, and his only thought had been that Alastair better not screw this up.

Now leaning against the railing of the sleek pleasure yacht, his arm around around Holden’s waist, a contingent of corporate guys chatting away around him, he was taking in the party scene. And waiting for Alastair to show up.

The yacht was enormous and gorgeous, like a floating hotel, and the night could not be more perfect. They had sailed from the harbor almost two hours ago, so that they were south into great sailing waters, the night lights along the coast glittering along their voyage.

It was absolutely beautiful, the rush of the water, the feel of the soft breeze occasionally warming through their hair and clothes. It was a cloudy night, but with a bright moon shining relentlessly through the heavens and onto the water. It was pure enchantment.

Except that Holden was in a terrible state.

Standing with his back pressed against his shoulder, Holden was as stiff as he could make himself while appearing not to be so. Deep in conversation with a handful of older gentlemen, Holden had been stressed from the situation right from the shore.

Seeing the size of the yacht from brightly lit pier, it had been obvious it couldn’t be moored. They would either have to take a speed boat out to it or use a long gang plank. 

He had prayed for the former, which would be fast, and had gotten the latter, which was more glamorous for the guests. A narrow, railed, gleaming wooden thing that had snaked across the water from the pier to the inviting lights of the yacht’s main deck.

Holden had walked them from the Town Car, past the line of whispering and pointing guests, to the front where two security men had greeted them, quickly and discreetly wanded them, and had waved them on through. 

And once they cleared the pier and were to set foot on the gang plank, Holden’s eyes flew to the dark water beneath and he had seen where Holden’s rationality gave out.

It hadn’t been a great start to the evening.

He had been able to whisper to Holden that he not look down and simply pretend it was still concrete beneath them. With his hand at the small of his back, Holden had started on automatic and hadn’t stopped walking until both his feet were planted on the deck.

He had quickly gotten them inside, and had been immensely relieved when a silver haired gentleman, one of the men Holden was avidly talking to now, had stopped them almost instantly.

Holden had looked surprised and quite pleased at the appearance of the man, and had quickly introduced him. The man, stout, silver haired, and with a Caribbean accent, was in some way related to—or owned maybe Holden had said—the real estate on the island of St. Bart’s to which Holden had traveled to and from after their engagement.

He had returned the man’s greeting, accepting his compliments on their engagement, and had been somewhat amused when the man had chastised Holden on not informing him when they had last met.

Holden had managed a tight smile, moving closer to the man, though keeping a tight hold on his hand, and had asked, “When did you get into town, Harry?” 

And turning from their conversation, thankful that Holden had found a distraction, he had found himself some champagne.

It didn’t appear to be a Bel Air event, the guests seeming more from the corporate world. Which connected them by something other than their wealth and made the party feel…normal. There were about a hundred of them, all overnight guests, of which Holden had assured him did not include them. It also appeared to have something to do with Forbes magazine from the number of copies strewn on every available surface.

He had taken a sip of his champagne, partly to dull the pain of Holden’s fingers squeezing the life out of his, when the boat had slightly rocked, ever so gently.

They had unmoored, ready to set sail, and while the sublime motion had caused scattered applause to rise softly across the room, Holden had tightened and pushed back against him like they had began a plunge down a roller coaster.

Trembling minutely while guests murmured in delight, Holden had put down his head. “What the hell am I doing here?” he had heard him whisper under his breath.

Thinking by then that that would be a great time for Alastair to show up, the hostess instead had found them.

Calling out his name from halfway across the room, she had pealed what a delight it was to finally meet him!

An older Hispanic woman, bright eyed and brimming with vitality, she had twirled her long, manicured fingers and had enthusiastically informed that she was Viviana, hostess of this party, and currently married “to the old bore who throws these things.”

He had smiled interestedly at her, finding it curious that she had used the word “currently” to describe her marital status, and that he didn’t find anything insidious about it.

“Hello, Holden, you precious darling!” she had exclaimed, and had air kissed Holden, who had actually kissed her back, making her laugh delightedly and wave her fingers at him.

“Come out on deck,” she had cried. “There are so many people who want to meet you!”

He had turned to look at Holden, whose back was still pressed into his shoulder as if by standing that way he would make the boat stay steady, his hand still cemented to his.

Holden had casually turned to Harry and had asked him if he would like to join them on deck, as if it was his party, and he was in his living room and everything was okay.

He wanted to cover him in kisses and tell him to keep it up and that everything would indeed be okay.

He didn’t however, because he did detect a slight edge with Holden, that he might be on probation until Holden could see how this evening would turn out.

They went out on deck, where to his delight, Viviana ignored the carefully set up seating, including a long bar on one end, and walked them straight until they were all standing beside the boat’s gleaming chrome railing, getting nothing but an unfettered view of the water.

Holden instantly turned his back on the water, letting him have all of the railing he so desired, and joined by the other two men who were currently talking with them, resumed his conversation with Harry. 

He had deployed his arm back on active duty, discreetly slipping it around Holden’s waist, and while Holden relaxed a fraction, leaned his other on the railing. He then sipped his champagne, listening as Viviana made introductions, but mostly waiting for Alastair to stop pretending he didn’t know they were on board and to send for them.

Viviana, who smiled helplessly when she had first noticed his arm around Holden, utterly charmed by his loving display of affection, now took in Holden’s tension and looked concernedly at him.

He smiled reassuringly at her.

But she glanced worriedly at Holden, and while group of young male corporate types, all with stars in their eyes, closed ranks around him and began the usual self-aware dance of whose question was the least fan-sounding and would go first, Viviana slowly came around them towards him.

Crooking her long nailed fingers at him, she leaned in and asked in an alluring whisper, “Would he take a whiskey?”

Instantly recalling that Holden had come home the night the invitations went out tasting incredibly erotically of just that, he nodded on automatic.

Viviana had nodded like a woman on a mission, and left. He had reassuringly run his hand down Holden’s hip. The men around him had swarmed and carried on about the season, and he let himself be pulled into some football talk, always interesting with armchair quarterbacks. 

One of them, sensing the irony perhaps, had repeatedly given him tight, self-conscious smiles. But he didn’t know what to tell the guy. _Don’t hang out with dickheads,_ he heard Davey offering in his head.

A second one, unfortunately, reminded him of the insidious Darren Moran and was soon shaking him down for business management. He assured him he was okay with the one he had, but out of courtesy he thanked him and took his business card when he offered it.

If he could find Moran’s face on the internet, he’d paste it on and take pot shots at it later.

As if sensing his loathing, Holden turned slightly to him and asked if he was all right. It made him smirk.

Just then Vivian reappeared with a tumbler of a whiskey, neat, which she handed to him and watched concernedly as squeezed Holden’s waist to get his attention. Holden gave him a quick look, saw the glass of amber liquid in his hand and didn’t waste a moment taking it from him.

Holden thanking them both hoarsely, turning back to Harry, and he blinked when Holden instantly downed most of it. Holden then let out a tremulous breath and held onto the glass and didn’t take a second sip. Viviana patted him and left.

But rather than soothing Holden, it popped a crease into his brow.

Leaning in when the other men talked amongst themselves, he whispered to Holden if he was all right.

“Where the hell is he?” was Holden’s rasped response. “It feels like this boat is going to split in two any moment from now.”

Well, crap.

Of course the boat felt like no such thing. 

Just as he started thinking that accepting Alastair’s maybe rather calculated move hadn’t been such a hot idea after all, someone called across the deck.

“Hey, Holden! Hey!”

Both he and Holden turned to see a tall, clearly over groomed guy, probably no more than thirty, forcing his way down the railing towards them.

His circle of admirers were also forced to give way as the newcomer walked right up until he had triangulated himself between him and Holden, and settled himself facing him against the railing, so that it looked like the three of them had been chatting all evening.

Holden, having seen the guy coming, hadn’t turned from his ongoing conversation to so much as spare him a look. 

When the guy had stopped moving, Holden merely sent his words over his shoulder.

“How are you, Bryan.”

“I’m good,” Bryan said, intensely.

Bryan’s widened eyes had speared him, so that if it were actual he would have been bleeding profusely from between his eyes. They slowly scraped the space between him and Holden, as if Bryan wasn’t quite sure who to ogle.

“Good,” Holden said with finality.

His own party had been interrupted by two more guests coming to say hi to Harry, and Holden was waiting to get back into it.

“How’s Peters?” Bryan asked Holden, one foot now braced against the railing behind him, edging out the corporate guys, whom he was amused to note looked irritated as all get out.

And even though Bryan had asked Holden the question, his eyes were nakedly fastened on him.

It would have been very disquieting were he not used to it.

“He’s fine,” Holden replied stiffly. 

But his coolness didn’t appear to discourage Bryan one bit.

When Holden obviously wasn’t going to introduce them, Bryan—he was sure he wasn’t seeing things—ran his tongue wetly over his lips and stuck out his hand towards him.

“I’m Bryan, Sean,” he said, as though the moment should not be lost on either of them. “Bryan with a Y.”

“Hey… how’s it going, Bryan…”

“It’s going _great._ It’s… it’s _amazing._ This _boat_ is amazing. Everyone who’s anyone from the finance world is here.” 

Bryan’s eyes strayed for only a fraction of the second, to make sure he didn’t miss out on all the everyones from the finance world, he presumed, before his intense eyes locked back on him. 

“I had _no_ idea you’d be here, though. It’s amazing to finally meet you. Holden and the guys talk about you all the time so it feels like I already know you. So what are the plans for the offseason? You guys must just be getting hammered with wedding stuff. I’d love to help in any way I can, by the way. As you know, my boss threw this party. He’s buds with Holden’s dad. So you can just go ahead and you know… just,” he seemed to not have the right, intense enough words. “…consider me all yours all summer long.”

Holden slowly turned and looked at Bryan.

And he could have palmed his face. Was this really happening? How nice was Holden going to be to Alastair after all this?

“I’ll let Petey know we ran into each other,” Holden told Bryan, in that same tone he used when he had had to read him the instructions on a user manual, not once but several times.

Bryan, thankfully, seemed to only need to hear it once to follow the simple and clear instruction to _leave now._

Grimacing like he was being forced to leave in the middle of the best part, Bryan somewhat insisted that he would catch them later and left.

“Who—”

“Don’t,” Holden said in a low voice. “Don’t even look at him. He might try to roofie you while you’re trying to figure it out.”

Holden gathered himself to rejoin his conversation, but at last they both spotted Alastair coming around the side of the boat.

Alastair was deep in conversation with a portly, black haired older man, who, judging from his decidedly underdressed appearance at a corporate yacht party—a flowing white linen boat shirt and semi-matching pastel pink pants, and sporting a huge enough gold watch to have it be hazardous as he commanded waitstaff about—he presumed was their host.

Holden had looked up, his expression not hard to read.

Alastair finished with the host, called a server over and whispered to her. She nodded and began in their direction. He started up the stairs while she came over.

“Mr. Wilson is ready for you,” she whispered upon reaching him.

He nodded, noting that Holden had clenched his jaw at her words.

He knew that Holden detested the way, he felt, his father “summoned” people.

 _And Sean Jackson is off to a very bad start,_ he heard his favorite commentator, Jim Nantz, saying pitifully in his head.

Thanking her, he looked hopefully at Holden. 

“Ready?”

“Of course,” Holden said in even tones.

While Holden excused himself from Harry, whom he genuinely seemed to regret leaving, he said goodbye to his football buddies who took it emotionally well. He waited as Holden set his tumbler of whiskey on the nearest available surface and together they started towards the stairs.

Holden walked ahead of him. No hand in his, no shoulder against him for support.

He didn’t say anything, just brought up the rear.

At the bottom of the stairs, their white-shirted host was waiting for them. When they reached him he put a hairy hand on Holden’s shoulder and mumbled what he took for a greeting. Holden smiled tightly, then turned and introduced him.

“Sean, this is Ben Hanan. My godfather.”

He did his utter best not to appear stunned. Which he was.

Hanan, his hand still clasping Holden’s shoulder, reached for him and clasped his arm as well, like blessing a union, and told him in a deep, measured voice that it was good to have finally met him. 

Then Hanan indicated the stairs with a tilt of his head.

“Alastair is waiting.”

Hanan then looked mildly at Holden. “You be good. I’ve already spoken with your father.”

“Your what?” he asked Holden as they ascended the polished wood staircase.

Holden gave him a quick look. 

Holden had never once mentioned that he had a godfather, and in fact had never mentioned Hanan’s name to him at all.

“It’s not some cozy setup like you’re thinking,” Holden said flatly. “He’s a great guy but his real job is to make sure I grow up to be a good heir to the Wilson name.”

“Oh… and what’s the deal with his wife?”

“She’s his fourth. He likes vivacious older women. And they love him right back.”

Lord help him with the super rich.

“Well, he seems to be doing his job, he said he’s already talked to your dad about you, right?”

Holden didn’t respond. Nothing he was saying was seeming to lighten the tone. 

They had reached the top deck of the boat.

This deck was slightly smaller than the one the had left, and except for a server, who nodded as they passed, this section of the boat was deserted.

Holden seemed to know where he was going, and neither looked left or right as he started down the side of the boat.

But after only a few feet Holden abruptly stopped and turned fully to him.

It was the first time all night he had done so. Now he saw that it was because Holden hadn’t wanted him to see what was going on in his eyes.

Though he could have guessed.

Holden looked very angry, his blue eyes glowing under the boat’s night lights.

But in their depths were also flashing something, and it wasn’t until later that he recognized it as simple fear.

The night was a beautiful one, and his guy as beautiful to match it. The breeze coming off the ocean blew gently through Holden’s hair and the coastal lights framed themselves behind him. Dressed in a slate grey cotton blazer, there was a loose white polo underneath, unbutton all the way and showing a mouthwatering amount of chest hair. And despite the situation, his eyes kept being drawn to it.

But Holden was somewhere else entirely, looking unseeingly at him.

“I don’t want to do this.”

He gently took his elbow. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“If he starts in on any bullshit,” Holden said, pulling back his elbow. “Any bullshit at all, about you and me, or about the wedding, I’m out. You hear me, Sean? I’m over him. There are plenty of opportunities out there for me to find a surrogate father if I need one, and I’m no longer going to put up with his veiled insults or his constant need for control.”

He nodded fully, but Holden had already restarted down the gangway, not waiting for a response. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. Somewhere around the middle of the gangway, he reached a door on his left, slid it aside, and they wordlessly entered cabin.

~*~


	8. Chapter 8

The cabin was a huge state of the art living room, devoid of guests like the rest of that section of the boat. Alastair was seated in an armchair across from a love seat, a couple of decanters, a crystal pitcher of water and stemware laid out in front of him.

If he could envision Holden at sixty sitting among sleek blonde-wood and cream leather living designs, reading a complimentary issue of Forbes, this is what he would see. 

The sight once more reminded him why, for better or worse, he couldn’t quite manage to dislike this man.

Holden was making a fuss of getting into the space between the love seat and the center table, asking him if he was situated all right, as though wanting Alastair to see that they were a team. And Alastair, who was much, much shrewder about personal matters than Holden gave him credit for, was observing his son over the rim of his glasses. When Holden seemed satisfied that they were both comfortably seated, Alastair closed the magazine and took off his glasses, lowering both to his side.

“You two help yourselves to whatever you like,” Alastair said, indicating the items before them.

Holden shifted only to make himself a little more comfortable, clearing his jacket from behind him and sitting back once more.

“Thanks for coming, Holden,” Alastair said, indicating their surroundings. “I know this is hard for you.”

Holden kept an impassive face. “I’m fine.”

“Sean told me you’d come if he brought you. I have to say I’m a bit surprised he managed it.”

“Why?” Holden asked immediately. “It surprises you that I trust him to take care of me?”

Alastair opened his mouth, but quickly, with his other hand so that Holden couldn’t see, he lifted a finger and narrowed his eyes at Alastair. If Alastair let Holden derail the conversation, God help him, he would put both of them in a year’s worth of time-out.

Alastair shifted minutely, having received the message, and possibility not wanting to know how he would mange it.

“Holden, look, I’m sorry for what’s happened. Your mother and I didn’t intend any of it to go down like this.”

Holden didn’t respond. Then he quietly asked, “Am I supposed to talk here?”

“Yes,” Alastair said, impatiently. “I would appreciate your input. It’s why we’re all here.”

“How did you and mom intend for it to go down?” Holden asked. “That you would turn something completely personal into an event by Wilson Realty Incorporated and I’d be okay with it?”

Alastair, sitting forward in his chair, gave his son a slightly dark look. It was obvious that he was itching to let Holden have it. 

But Alastair didn’t need to move his eyes an inch to see that he was giving him an even darker look.

“It was poorly handled, Holden,” Alastair said. “I’ll admit. We’re prone to mistakes like anyone else, but you have to believe me, we only mean the absolute best for you.”

“And I don’t for myself?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m only saying that three heads are better than one. And sometimes we just get frustrated when you don’t call us back. Or want to talk. Like you’ve been doing for the last couple of months.”

“Well, maybe it’s because— Maybe for once in my life—” but Holden stopped. 

When he looked at him, Holden was staring at the center table. Then Holden removed his eyes and stared at the far windows instead. He said nothing.

He stole a look at Alastair and nodded once as encouragement for him to continue.

Alastair cleared his throat and said, “Please go on, Holden.”

For a long time nothing happened. 

Holden had never told him what had happened between him and his father last summer. But from what he had been able to put together, he suspected that Holden had tried to open up to Alastair and explain to him the feelings he had for this new love in his life, why it was different than all the rest. And why it should be given a different treatment in their family. Holden had been pleading for understanding. 

But Alastair, it seemed, had taken it as a personal attack and had turned it into a vicious confrontation in which he had very successfully belittled Holden’s feelings. He knew that Holden no longer wanted to say the words and give their power over to Alastair.

“Dad,” Holden eventually said. “With _this_ man, with Sean I don’t want it to be like it’s always been. I don’t want the situation to be controlled, formatted, or schematized in any way. I want it to just be me and him. I want to be given a chance to make it work. Were it up to me, I would stay away from you and mom until things changed. Until you both stopped seeing loving relationships as a running joke. But he won’t let me. So all I want, dad, is for you to respect that.”

“I respect that.”

“Don’t just say it. This isn’t a blackjack table for high rollers, it’s my private life.”

“And I respect that,” Alastair insisted. “But Holden, you’re gonna have to cut me some slack here.”

He looked in consternation at Alastair. 

But Alastair’s eyes had gone stormy. Just as his son’s had been on the gangway. And beside him, Holden’s body tensed.

“I like Sean,” Alastair said authoritatively. “He’s going to make a great son-in-law. But the irony is, I’ll _still_ like him when _you’re_ through with him. I’ll be the one still answering his phone calls when you won’t consider it worth of your time anymore, and _I’ll_ be the one making sure he doesn’t end up feeling used and dumped like a bad idea when that’s _exactly_ what would have happened to him.”

 _Mother. Fucker._

“So, please,” Alastair went on relentlessly. But looking flustered. And upset. And now avoiding his son’s gaze. “Stop treating me like the villain, for god’s sake, and show some appreciation for the fact that I treat and have always treated the subjects of your romantic liaisons with the respect that they deserve. A respect they get because you’re _my_ son. Not a single one of them has a bad thing to say about you or your family. And why do you think that is? Who do you think you have to thank for that?”

He let out a slow, hard breath. He stared coldly at his future father-in-law, feeling an unsentimentality that had gone well beyond tough love.

And to keep his own temper, he made himself not look at Holden’s face, pale with shock.

Alastair looked even more upset than when he had given his tirade, like he was regretting what he had said and yet was glad he had said it.

“Let’s get out of here,” Holden whispered urgently, turning to him.

“No.”

Holden, trembling in his seat, forcefully holding himself together. His distress bled through in the form of his crushing fingers, searing pain into his own. 

He only sat there staring at Alastair.

“So what exactly are you doing, Alastair?” he asked. “This isn’t what we talked about.”

“It’s the truth, Sean.”

“Well, let’s say it is. That means that you take care of each other. You’re there for him, you showed respect and non judgement for his lifestyle. And he does the same for you. Yet the issue of trust persists between the two of you. Why is _that?_ ”

Regret was now overwhelming anything else on Alastair’s face. He looked frayed.

Holden was now trying to disengage, trying to pull his fingers from his, but he wouldn’t let him. So Holden just took a shaking breath. “Sean, just get up with me,” he said plaintively. “I need you to just get up.”

“We don’t have to go anywhere, sweetheart,” he said calmly.

Alastair wasn’t going to get an easy way out this time. He was going to see and be pained by what his words had done.

He moved his hand from the back of the sofa to Holden’s shoulder. 

“If your dad isn’t going to prove trustworthy on any level,” he said, his eyes on Alastair, “I’m pretty sure he’s the one that has to get out.”

In the ensuring silence, he said, “I mean right now, Alastair.”

Alastair whipped a look at him. “You want me to get up and leave?”

“What do _you_ think? And just so we’re clear, I don’t mean just for now. Because this isn’t working out.”

Alastair’s face was drawn, nearly as pale as his son’s. But he had no sympathy for him because Alastair knew exactly what he had to do. They had discussed it.

They had talked very candidly about how to practically achieve all the lofty things he had said about parenthood.

Yet when it came to putting it in play, it boiled down to the age old problem of men like him not wanting to show themselves as vulnerable. Wanting to equate only actions with respect but feelings with weakness.

Well, he was only too glad to show him what it felt like to be weak.

Holden had turned completely to him, and was trembling everywhere he could see, in his hands, around his jaw.

“Why won’t you get up?” Holden whispered to him tremulously. “Just take my hand and we’ll get out of here.”

Fighting hard against the thudding of his heart, he circled an arm around Holden’s shoulders and put the other one around Holden’s middle. They were already close enough so that he didn’t have to bring them closer. Instead he pressed a kiss to Holden’s forehead, then another to the side of his face, while Holden remained so stiff he felt as though he would crack. He left his head between Holden’s hot face and the sofa, then closed his eyes and prayed for a miracle.

He got one.

When he pulled back, Holden had flooded with color, his lashes dropped, and his vulnerability so evident that he kissed him again.

Then at last Alastair said, “Sean, could you give us a moment, please.”

“Absolutely not,” Holden said in a voice that shook badly.

“Holden, I’m sorry,” Alastair said humbly. “I really am. Look at me,” he said self-derisively. “I’ve spent all my years as a father getting only the superficial parts of it right. And getting away with it. Then here this guy comes, throwing it all back in my face, and being completely right about it.”

“I don’t care,” Holden said flatly.

Alastair stopped talking. Then, unexpectedly, he gave a small, tight-lipped smile. “You know, you used to say that when you were a little kid.”

Holden’s brow knitted. He looked angry.

“Your mother and I would—”

“Don’t try it,” Holden said flatly. Holden turned to him again. “Sean, get up.”

Alastair once more quit talking.

Because he was looking directly at him, he was seeing the difficulty Alastair was having in completing his thoughts. 

So with Holden’s eyes downcast, he seized the moment, and quickly catching Alastair’s eye, he mouthed, _It doesn’t matter._

Alastair blinked as though startled by the notion, and nodded. Without looking, he indicated to his right.

He looked and saw a private balcony off the living room. Coastal lights winked beyond its railing. He brought his gaze back to Holden’s downturned head and kissed his cheek. Then slowly he extricated himself as he stood up.

Holden stood up with him, his rush of relief nearly palatable. “Thank you, Sean, thank you. Ju-just st-start—”

Alastair also stood up. “Son—”

“Are you insane?” Holden asked thickly through the tears he could no longer pretend had not clogged his throat. “How can you call me that when you have no idea what that means? I’ve seen what a father is like and you’re a disgrace, a selfish, jealous man who can’t even find it in himself to be happy for his child. And if you think that I’m— Don’t _touch_ me,” Holden said, his voice all but gone.

Alastair who had come around the table, was holding firmly to him, attempting to put his arms around him.

“Get off me,” Holden insisted, but by now his words were hard to understand.

He had made it to the back of the sofa, and there he stood, for a moment unable go any further. Alastair glanced at him, and he steeled himself and did what he had to do. 

He kept moving, making straight across the living room towards the balcony as Holden finally unleashed on his father. He went through the doors, looking up as he turned to shut them, and saw Holden’s finger pointed up, his expression tight with unbridled anger. Tears were already pouring down his face. It took all his willpower to click the sliding door shut and wait.

~*~

Holden was openly railing, and Alastair was calmly speaking. It went on like a thunderstorm against glass walls.

He waited, his feet apart, his heart inside the room, ready to rush back inside if anything went wrong.

But nothing went astray.

He blinked back tears as Alastair made a final attempt to pull Holden in, refusing to let him go this time, even as Holden clutched at his shirt, pushing at him.

But Alastair was speaking very calmly to him, until Holden seemed too tired to fight anymore, trembling as he clutched his father’s shirt, letting himself be drawn in, and lowering his head to Alastair’s shoulder as he finally let go and simply cried his heart out.

He stood on the breeze-filled balcony, staring a hole through the glass of the sliding door, unable to breathe. Willing the two men inside to resolve, to at least reach an understanding, or a mutual respect.

Alastair appeared to be doing a sincere job. He was firmly holding his son like a father should. The burden was on Alastair to get it right. This was the conclusion of an interrupted conversation, and if he again fucked it up it would be years before time enough had passed to attempt it again.

Alastair smoothed the back of Holden’s head, his own eyes downcast and unavailable to read. But he continued to kiss his son on his temple and appeared ready to hold him for as long as he needed.

Alastair had started to speak once more, speaking firmly into his ear, and though his head was buried in his father’s shoulder, Holden appeared to be listening very carefully, and nodding to indicate his understanding, and when he started crying again, he turned away from the sliding door and gave them their total privacy.

~*~

“How dare he say those things to me,” Holden rasped, in a voice that was probably going to be hoarse for a few days. 

“What, that he loves you?” he asked gently.

“They’re such uncaring people,” Holden said with sincerity, apparently not having heard him. “They know just how to get what they want. They’ll say anything to make things go smoothly and you’ll think it’s because they care. But all they want is control.. control over everything.”

He said nothing, just slowly, steadily rubbed Holden’s back. 

They were on the balcony, Alastair having left, and Holden sitting on a deck chair with his head pressed into his stomach. He was leaning against the railing, soothingly roving his hands over Holden’s back.

He was okay with Holden’s take on what had just happened with Alastair. He knew a change wouldn’t happen overnight. Trust took time and was earned.

Holden pulled back and looked up at him.

But only after his eyes had momentarily flashed to the black waters lightly serenading their ocean song around them. Apparently whatever truce he had held with the water was fast eroding.

After a moment, rather than saying anything, Holden lowered his eyes back down to the deck.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“I’m terrified I’m going to be like them. I-I know I’m not like them now, I don’t think like them. But they say you become just like you parents when you get older, don’t they?”

He didn’t say anything. There was more where that came from.

“Sean, I could never love you any less than I do at this minute,” Holden said softly. “And each morning I wake up a little more in love with you than the day before. Which doesn’t seem possible,” he said, frowning at the deck. “But it’s true. Every day it’s a struggle leaving you in the condo to go to work. So I can’t stomach the thought that… as time passes I would start thinking that it would be okay to take you for granted, manipulate you, or to use your feelings for me against you.”

“Why would you say things like this?”

“Because I know I have a tendency to—” but Holden stopped talking.

He wanted Holden to finish. “You know you have a tendency to what?” he asked him when he didn’t.

“To seem like I don’t get emotional over you, or listen when you want me to, and I sometimes let you run out of steam when I know I should be talking to you.”

He smiled to himself. All his own words, used against him.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Holden. We all need to live with humility once in a while,” he assured him, his thoughts on his own behavior in Johnston.

He rested his arms on Holden’s shoulders and trailed his fingers through the soft hair at the back of his head. He smiled at him. 

Holden didn’t smile back, his thoughts burdened by his perceived shortcomings. His eyes were red, the skin around his nose raw. He looked vulnerable and flummoxed, and maybe even slightly awed. As if, despite everything he had said, just around the corner, something good was about to happen.

And he wanted to kiss him forever.

Unlike the first time he had seen Holden in this state, he himself wasn’t seeing red. Except, perhaps, for red hearts for his brave sweetheart.

Holden stared at the ocean for a fraction of a second, sniffed and said thickly, “When are we gonna get off this damn boat?”

He felt weak from his melted heart. How was it that love weakened and made you stronger all at once?

Holden, seeing his probably really dopey look, eyed him suspiciously. 

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.

Grinning, he lowered his head, and threw him a self-conscious look. “I think I just fell slightly more in love.”

“What, right now?” Holden asked incredulously, in his clogged up voice.

Laughing under his breath, he nodded. “So, if you don’t mind…”

A short while later they were laying side by side, a cool wash on Holden’s face; him on his side, Holden on his back.

They had ended up taking one of the yacht’s suites, even though Holden hadn’t wanted them to spend the night on the boat. But three deck up, they could barley feel the ocean, and certainly not hear any of the normal sounds of a boat.

He was kissing around the edges of the wash cloth. He had managed to get off the cotton blazer and it was just him and Holden’s unbuttoned polo shirt.

“I can feel the boat moving,” Holden said dimly.

“That’s just the motion of love.”

Holden made a helpless, growling noise.

“You did good with your dad tonight,” he softly told him. “Not just good, actually. Phenomenally.”

Holden took a sharp, deep breath. He was quiet under the wash cloth. Then he said, “Sean, we’re never allowed to talk about my dad again when we’re lying in bed together. Cool?”

He burst into soft laughter. Holden quirked his mouth.

Then after a moment, Holden said, “We have to make sure we get your family’s invitations sent out in the morning.”

There was a beat of silence, in during which he reigned in his surprise.

Then he lifted one side of the wash cloth. Holden peeked a deep blue eye at him. And he also had a smile waiting for him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

“Look who’s talking,” Holden replied, smiling.

Setting the wash cloth aside, he moved over him. “If at any time you’re scared of the water,” he whispered, staring intently down at him. “You just hold on tight to me and scream.”

Holden struggled with a smile that was about to split his face apart, nodded, and in the simple way he sometimes had, said, “Okay.”


End file.
